


The Sky Princess Bride

by risenphoenix



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/F, The Princess Bride Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:37:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4501080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risenphoenix/pseuds/risenphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A direct adaptation of the 1987 film "The Princess Bride," but with cast members from "The 100", including:</p><p>Clarke Griffin as Princess Buttercup<br/>Lexa as Westley<br/>Indra as Vizzini<br/>Octavia Blake as Inigo<br/>Lincoln as Fezzik<br/>Cage Wallace as Prince Humperdinck<br/>Marcus Kane as Count Rugen<br/>Monty Green as Miracle Max<br/>Jasper Jordan as Valerie</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

     Clarke was raised on a small farm in the country of Florin. Her favorite pastimes were riding her horse and tormenting the farmhand that worked there. Her name was Lexa, but Clarke never called her that.  
     Nothing gave Clarke as much pleasure as ordering Lexa around. “Farmhand,” she’d say, “Polish my horse’s saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning!”  
     “As you wish,” the farmhand would reply.  
     “As you wish” was all that Lexa ever said to her. Clarke lived to test her, but “as you wish” remained her sole response.  
     “Farmhand,” Clarke said one day, dropping empty buckets at Lexa’s feet, “fill these with water.” Lexa raised her eyes to meet Clarke’s for a moment. Clarke felt as if she’d never been truly seen until then, and a shudder washed over her. “Please,” she managed to add, before her breath caught in her throat and her chest tightened.  
     “As you wish,” Lexa whispered in response.  
     In that moment, Clarke was amazed to discover that, when Lexa was saying “As you wish,” what she truly meant was “I love you.”

 

***

 

     Clarke avoided Lexa as much as she could after her realization. She needed time to think. She was unsure of what it would mean, or what it _could_ mean. She felt flush at the thought of her farmhand’s eyes, clear and calm, like the sea after a storm. She felt her heart pound hard in her chest as she thought of all the times she’d teased Lexa, mercilessly, and all the times the girl had responded with the same three perfect words.  
     A few days later, Clarke was lost in her thoughts when the sound of a tentative knock on her door snapped her back into reality. “Come in,” she called.  
     She was both elated and terrified to see Lexa’s familiar dark brown braids dip through her doorway. She’d brought an armload of firewood for Clarke’s quarters.  
     Clarke tried to avert her eyes, but she couldn’t help but notice Lexa’s lean, muscular arms as they cradled the logs. Her heart began to pound, and she found it hard to breathe. She watched as Lexa quietly crossed the floor, then knelt and tenderly laid the firewood next to the hearth. It was in that moment that Clarke realized she truly loved her back.  
     Her breath caught as Lexa stood and crossed the room to leave. “Farmhand!” she quickly called out.  
     Lexa stopped and turned in the doorway.  
     Clarke panicked, not having thought this far ahead in her desperation to keep the girl there. She quickly scanned the room, searching for something to ask of her. Her eyes settled on a water pitcher, hanging just out of reach.  
     “Fetch me that pitcher?” she asked.  
     Lexa raised her eyes to meet Clarke’s for the first time since that day in the stables. Clarke felt frozen in place, her heart adrift on those perfect gray-green seas. Lexa began to cross the room toward her, slowly and purposefully.  
     She stopped, mere inches away from Clarke, and reached up to grasp the water pitcher, never breaking eye contact. She pulled it down and offered it to the other girl, whispering, “As you wish,” as the corners of her mouth began to pull up into a shy smile.  
     They stood for a moment, suspended in time, completely lost in each other’s eyes. Clarke reached to take the pitcher from Lexa, and felt her fingers brush against the farmgirl’s hand for what had to be the first time she could ever remember touching her. Her skin felt like liquid heat, and Clarke could feel her chest tighten at their contact. She turned to set the pitcher down, needing only that moment for clarity.  
     She turned back to Lexa, grabbed her waist, and pulled the other girl into a deep and desperate kiss. Lexa brought her hands up to grasp at Clarke’s hips, and Clarke raised her hands to Lexa’s neck, only to lose them in the farmhand’s tightly bound braids.

 

***

     Lexa had no money for marriage, so she packed all her belongings and left to make her fortune overseas. It was a very emotional time for Clarke.  
     She wrapped her arms around the other girl tightly. “I fear I’ll never see you again,” she breathed.  
     “Of course you will,” Lexa replied, placing her hand beneath Clarke’s chin and raising the girl’s eyes to meet her own.  
     “But, what if something happens to you?” Clarke pleaded, tears beginning to flow freely down her cheeks.  
     “Hear this now,” Lexa began. Clarke looked deep into her sea-green eyes. “I will always come for you,” Lexa said.  
     “But how can you be sure?” Clarke asked.  
     “This is true love,” Lexa answered, and the fire in her eyes gave Clarke what her words could not. “You think this happens every day, hm?” the farmhand teased before pulling Clarke into one last fevered, all-consuming kiss.  
     When they broke for air, Lexa knelt down to grab her bags, briefly touching her hand to Clarke’s tear-stained cheek, then she set out for her ship.  


***

  
     Lexa never reached her destination. Her ship was attacked by the Dread Pirate Raven, known to never leave captives alive. When Clarke received word that Lexa had been murdered, she went into her room and shut the door. For days she neither slept nor ate, vowing to herself that she would never love again.


	2. Chapter 2

_Five Years Later  
  
_      The main square of Florin City was filled as never before to hear the announcement of the great Prince Cage’s bride-to-be. The common people danced in the streets as the royal trumpets played. The Queen and King stood on the castle’s balcony, waiting for their son to address the crowd.  
     Cage arrived, and the celebration quieted as he spoke. “My people,” he began. “A month from now, our country will have its 500th anniversary. On that sundown, I shall marry a lady who was once a commoner like yourselves. But perhaps you will not find her common now.” He paused. “Would you like to meet her?” his voice rang out.  
     “Yes!” the crowd cheered in response.  
     “My people, the Sky Princess, Clarke!”  
     The trumpets blared as Clarke made her entrance below the balcony. Her golden hair fell loose to her waist, and the blue of her gown matched the blue in her eyes. ‘Sky Princess,’ the people called her, for her eyes were the color of the Florin sky on a summer day - an endless, cerulean blue.  
     She stared out at the sea of common folk, much like herself, and her emptiness consumed her. She was trapped. The law of the land gave Cage the right to choose his bride, but she did not love him. She stood for a moment longer before gracefully making her exit. Despite Cage’s reassurance that she would grow to love him, the only joy she found was in her daily ride. She left the castle and made her way to the stables.  
  
***  
  
     With the wind in her hair and her courser beneath her, Clarke felt free. She leaned forward and tightened her knees, urging the horse to run faster, revelling in the animal’s unbridled speed as they left the town behind.  
     She led him over now-familiar hills and down well-worn trails until they were deep in the forest that lay outside the town’s edges. She was considering turning him around and heading back to the castle when she felt him tense and slow beneath her.  
     Clarke looked up to see what had spooked the animal, and was met with a strange sight: before her stood what appeared to be three lost entertainers of some kind - two women and one very large, muscular man. Their stained and tattered clothing suggested they’d been traveling for some time, and Clarke couldn’t imagine why they would be this far out in the forest.  
     “A word, my lady,” the older of the women started toward her, bowing deeply. “We are but poor, lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby?”  
     Clarke clutched her horse’s reins tightly. “There is nothing nearby,” she answered, hoping to send them on their way. “Not for miles.”  
     The older woman smiled, and Clarke suddenly felt vulnerable. “Good,” she said, an eerie, satisfied grin creeping across her face. “Then there will be no one to hear you scream!”  
     Clarke took a deep breath to do just that, but before she could make a sound, she felt a large hand pinching the base of her neck, and everything turned to darkness.  
  
***  
  
     Lincoln, the Strong Man, had just finished carrying Clarke onto their ship when he heard the unmistakable sound of fabric ripping. He laid her next to the center mast, gesturing at Octavia, the grounder, to tie her hands and feet, then turned to seek the source of the sound. He saw their leader, Indra, tearing some sort of uniform near the girl’s horse.  
     “What is that you’re ripping?” he asked, stepping toward her.  
     “It’s fabric from the uniform of an army officer of Guilder.” She continued to tear the emblem away from the crimson fabric.  
     “Who’s Guilder?”  
     “The country across the sea,” she answered, her tone implying that this should have been common knowledge to him. Lincoln only stared back at her blankly. “The sworn enemy of Florin!” She tucked the emblem from the uniform into the horse’s saddle, swatting him across his hind flank and sending him back the way Clarke had come. Lincoln patiently awaited her explanation. “Once the horse reaches the castle, the fabric will make the prince suspect the Guilderians have abducted his love. When he finds her body dead on the Guilder frontier, his suspicions will be totally confirmed!”  
     “You never said anything about killing anyone,” Lincoln protested.  
     “I have hired you to help me start a war,” Indra growled. “It’s a prestigious line of work, with a long and glorious tradition!” She gathered the rest of their belongings and made for the ship.  
     “I just don’t think it’s right, killing an innocent girl,” Lincoln muttered, half to himself.  
     Indra stopped dead in her tracks. She turned to him and glared. “Am I going mad, or did the word ‘THINK’ escape your lips?! You were not hired for your brains, you HIPPOPOTAMIC LAND MASS!” Lincoln hung his head.  
     “I agree with Lincoln.” Octavia had climbed down from the ship’s upper deck.  
     “Oh! The sot has spoken!” Indra shouted. “What happens to her is not truly your concern. And remember this, NEVER forget this,” she reached forward to grab the collar of Octavia’s shirt and yanked her to within inches of her face, “when I found you, you were so slobbering drunk, you couldn’t buy BRANDY!” She released the smaller girl and stepped toward Lincoln. “And you,” she pointed. “Friendless! Brainless! Helpless! Hopeless! DO YOU WANT ME TO SEND YOU BACK TO WHERE YOU WERE? Unemployed?? IN GREENLAND?!” And with that last outburst, Indra stormed to the bow of the ship.  
     Lincoln released the ship’s lines as Octavia climbed toward the rudder. “Indra, she can really fuss,” he started, allowing a sly grin as he looked over at Octavia.  
     Octavia caught his eye and smiled. “Fuss...fuss…” she thought for a moment. “I think she likes to scream _at us_ ,” she finished.  
     “Probably she means no _harm_ ,” Lincoln tied up the ropes.  
     “She’s really very short on _charm_!” Octavia guided them away from the shoreline.  
     “Ah, you have a great gift for rhyme,” Lincoln conceded, sitting next to her on the deck.  
     “Yes, yes, some of the time,” she laughed.  
     “Enough of that!” Indra shouted from the bow.  
     “Lincoln, are there rocks ahead?” Octavia called out.  
     “If there are, we’ll all be dead!” he bellowed back.  
     “No more rhymes now, I MEAN IT!” Indra fumed at them.  
     Lincoln grinned. “Anybody want a peanut?”  
     Indra screamed in frustration as Octavia and Lincoln laughed, settling into the journey ahead of them.


	3. Chapter 3

     They’d been sailing for hours and were well into the night. Octavia kept having the unshakable feeling that something, or some _one_ , was behind them. She’d been checking regularly, but had yet to actually set eyes on anything.  
     “We’ll reach the cliffs by dawn,” Indra said, growing restless. She’d been pacing the deck for the last twenty minutes. She turned to Octavia just as she looked over her shoulder again. “Why are you doing that?”  
     “Making sure nobody’s following us,” she said, matter-of-factly.  
     “That would be inconceivable,” she dismissed, pacing back toward the ship’s bow.  
     Clarke had been watching everything unfold since she’d regained consciousness, trying her best to make sense of it all. She’d been quiet until now. “Despite what you think,” she looked at Indra, “you _will_ be caught. And when you are, the prince will see you all hanged.” She turned her head, doing her best to affect an air of royalty, hoping no one could read her bluff. She truly had no idea whether the prince even knew she’d been kidnapped, much less if he would come after her. There was a tiny place inside her that secretly hoped he’d just let her go.  
     Indra crossed the deck toward the girl. “Of all the necks on this boat, princess,” she knelt before her, “the one you should be worrying about is your own.” She stood and caught Octavia looking over her shoulder again. “Stop doing that! We can all relax, it’s almost over.”  
     The younger girl turned toward Indra, a curious expression on her face. “You are sure nobody’s following us?”  
     She was leaning against the side of the ship, trying to appear casual and collected. “As I told you, it would absolutely, totally, and in all other ways inconceivable. No one in Guilder knows what we’ve done, and no one in Florin could’ve gotten here so fast.” She paused to consider if she herself believed what she was saying, then crooked her head to the side before continuing. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”  
     “Oh, it’s nothing,” Octavia shrugged. “Suddenly, I just happen to look behind us and something is there.”  
     “What!?” Indra leapt to her feet and crossed to the rear deck where the other girl sat, guiding the rudder. She squinted out into the darkness, but couldn’t quite see whatever it was that Octavia had seen. “Probably some local fisherman, out for a pleasure cruise,” she tried to dismiss it. “At night...through eel infested waters…” she trailed off. She leaned out over the stern, peering across the water, when suddenly she heard a great splash.  
     She spun around with Octavia, only to find that the princess had seized an opportunity and leapt overboard. “What!” Indra shouted, turning to grab Octavia. “Go in after her!” She thrust the smaller girl toward the ship’s starboard side.  
     Octavia stumbled before turning to address Indra. “I don’t swim,” she stated, crossing her arms.  
     Indra turned to Lincoln, exasperated, her eyes pleading with him. “I only dog paddle,” he pantomimed at her, catching Octavia’s eye and holding back a grin.  
     Indra screamed and ran for the bow. “Veer left, veer left!”  
     Lincoln grabbed the helm and began turning the ship, then stiffened at the sound of an ear-piercing shriek coming from below them. Indra crossed behind him to lean over the side of the boat, calling down to Clarke, who was floating just out of reach. “Do you know what that sound is, princess?” Clarke began to feel a frenzy of activity swimming around her. She could see something, or a _lot_ of somethings, moving beneath the water. She tried not to panic, but the circle of sea creatures surrounding her wasn’t doing anything to calm her nerves. “Those are the shrieking eels,” Indra smiled evilly at her. “If you don’t believe me, just wait! They always grow louder when they’re about to feed on human flesh!”  
     The eels were edging closer and closer to Clarke, who was now desperately struggling just to stay afloat. Her sodden gown was like a weight, constantly dragging her back beneath the surface. The eels kept screaming and shrieking - it was almost deafening. “If you swim back now,” Indra shouted over them, “I promise no harm will come to you! I doubt you’ll get such an offer from the eels,” she laughed coldly.  
     Clarke could feel them brushing against her body, sliding past her legs, all the while screaming louder and louder. She turned to swim for the boat but came face to face with an eel about to charge her. She froze, absolutely panicked, unable to move. She closed her eyes and braced for the worst as the eel sped toward her.  
     The next thing she knew, Lincoln’s big hands were grasping the shoulders of her gown and hauling her out of the water. She fell onto the deck, coughing and sputtering. He pulled her over to the far side of the boat and helped her sit with her back against it. “Just put her down,” Indra muttered.  
     “I think he’s getting closer,” Octavia called from the rear deck.  
     “HE’S NO CONCERN OF OURS!” Indra exploded. She turned to Clarke, regaining her composure. “I suppose you think you’re brave, don’t you?”  
     Clarke glared up at her, doing her best not to shiver. “Only compared to _some_ ,” she narrowed her eyes.  
     Indra huffed and paced off toward her cabin. Clarke looked at Lincoln, wishing she could find the words to thank him. He simply nodded at her, then turned to catch Octavia’s eye. She looked behind them once more and shrugged, unsure as to what, if anything, they could do. The three of them fell into a comfortable silence and sailed on, only a few hours from their destination.


	4. Chapter 4

   

     Dawn was breaking, and still they could not manage to shake the mysterious fisherman who’d been following them throughout the night. Indra had been pacing for the last hour and Clarke was growing weary of watching her pass back and forth.  
     “Look,” Octavia called down. “He’s right on top of us!” Clarke was shocked to find that she could clearly see the other ship’s sails. He had been gaining on them all night. “I wonder if he’s using the same wind we’re using,” she heard Octavia mumble to herself.  
     “Whoever he is, he’s too late!” Indra was mad with excitement. “SEE?” she cried. “THE CLIFFS OF INSANITY!”   
     Clarke raised her eyes to the insurmountable wall that lay before them. She could see neither a port nor a way up the cliffs, and was becoming more and more afraid for her life as they grew closer. A fall from that height was sure to kill a person.

     Indra ran to the stern of the ship, where Octavia had begun to rein in the sails. “Move that thing!” she ordered. “And, that other thing!” she yelled to Lincoln up ahead. “MOVE IT!!”  
     The crew slowly and skillfully guided the boat into a hidden inlet. Lincoln threw out a line and tied them off while Octavia trimmed the sails.  
     Indra leapt off the side of the boat and onto the rocky shore below. “We’re safe.” She stood, waiting for the rest of the crew to disembark.  
     Lincoln knelt to grab Clarke and gently lifted her over his shoulder. He followed Octavia over the edge and down to the rocks.  
     “Only Lincoln is strong enough to go up our way,” Indra bragged, grinning smugly. She pointed across the bay to the other ship. “He’ll have to sail around for hours ‘til he finds a harbor.” She disappeared briefly behind a rock and returned carrying a large leather vest, with three harnesses attached to it. “Put this on.” She handed it to Lincoln.  
     He sat Clarke down on a nearby rock and began to quickly fasten the vest to himself. Octavia had been readying a rope just out of sight from the inlet, and she called out to the others. “Let’s go!”  
     Indra dashed off to the rope, and Lincoln knelt once more to lift Clarke up. He met her eyes for just a moment, and there she read the apology his lips couldn’t speak. He carried her gently over to the base of the cliff, then helped her into the harness on his right side. Octavia climbed into the harness on his left, leaving Indra to the one attached to his chest.  
     Clarke found herself wondering if one man could really carry all three of them up the seemingly infinite vertical face, but before she could spend too long on the thought, she felt Lincoln’s back muscles lurch into action. He was a swift climber, despite carrying at least twice his weight. The women were small and he was strong, but still, the cliffs were not exactly known for their ease.  
    As Lincoln steadily climbed, the unknown fisherman slipped his boat into a nearby inlet and lept out after them. He ran to the foot of their rope and began to climb. Clarke felt the line tighten below her and squeezed her eyes shut. Octavia looked down, completely stunned. “He’s climbing the rope,” she gasped, “and he’s gaining on us!”  
     “Inconceivable!” Indra fumed. She looked Lincoln dead in the eye. “FASTER!”  
     “I thought I WAS going faster,” he groaned.  
     “You were supposed to be this Colossus, you were this great, legendary thing, and yet he gains!”  
     “Well,” he grunted, “I’m carrying three people, and he’s got only himself!” He continued pulling them up the rope, hand over hand.  
     “I’m just going to have to find myself a new giant, that’s all,” Indra threatened.  
     “Don’t say that, Indra, please,” he strained against the rope. They had to be nearing the top by now. Clarke glanced below them briefly and caught sight of a masked man, dressed solely in black, steady gaining.  
     “DID I MAKE IT CLEAR THAT YOUR JOB IS AT STAKE?” Indra screeched.  
     They reached the top, and Lincoln braced himself against the cliff’s edge. Octavia shimmied out of her harness and up onto the precipice, turning quickly to pull Clarke up and over. She hurried her toward an outcropping of rocks, sat her down, then ran back to help Indra. She pulled Indra up and over the edge, and the woman immediately ran to a large rock that had the end of their rope tied to it. She unsheathed a dagger from where it had been hidden at her ankle and began to saw at the incredibly thick rope. Clarke tried desperately to catch her breath, overwhelmed by the climb and the chase. She was sure the man in black was still speeding up their rope, but unsure of what it would mean if he caught up to them.  
     Indra sawed furiously at the rope, and just as Lincoln crested the cliff’s edge, the rope snapped loose and slid away behind him. He turned to look down at what was left of the man in black, and Octavia sidled up next to him.  
     They peered over the cliff, and both were struck dumb by what they saw. The man in black, against all odds, was holding tightly to the face of the cliff a few yards below them. “He’s got very good arms,” Lincoln admitted, impressed.  
     “He didn’t fall?!” Indra ran to the edge of the cliff. “INCONCEIVABLE!!”  
     Octavia turned to her. “You keep using that word,” she started. “I do not think it means what you think it means.” Indra glared at her and she paused, looking back down at the man. “My god, he’s climbing!”  
     “Whoever he is, he’s obviously seen us with the princess and must therefore die.” Indra pointed to Lincoln. “You, carry her. We’ll head straight for the Guilder frontier.” Lincoln lifted Clarke over his shoulder. Indra turned back to Octavia. “Catch up when he’s dead,” she nodded toward the cliff. “If he falls, fine. If not, the sword.”  
     Octavia smiled to herself, leaning back against a rock. “I’m going to duel him left-handed.”  
     “You know what a hurry we’re in!” Indra shouted.  
     “It’s the only way I can be satisfied. If I use my right - over too quickly.” She began to run her blade along the edge of a nearby stone.  
     “Oh fine, have it your way!” Indra spun on her heels, exasperated, and took off through the ruins atop the cliff.  
     “You be careful,” Lincoln called out to Octavia. “People in masks cannot be trusted.”  
     Octavia nodded to him, and he bowed his head in return.  
     “I’m waiting!!” Indra yelled over her shoulder, and Lincoln turned to follow her.  
  
* * *  
  
     Octavia paced through her stances atop the cliff, stepping quickly, slicing her sword through the air. She hated waiting.  
     She stepped to the edge and peered down at the masked man, still clinging tightly to the cliff’s face. “Hello there!” she called out to him. “Slow going?”  
     He lifted his face to shout up at her. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” he moved his right hand followed by his right foot, and pulled himself a few inches closer, “but this is not as easy as it looks, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t distract me.”  
     “Sorry,” Octavia muttered, impatiently.  
     “Thank you,” the voice below her yelled back. She paced through a few more stances, then circled back to the cliff’s edge, overcome with curiosity.  
     “I don’t suppose you could speed things up?” she teased.  
     “If you’re in such a hurry, you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do,” the man sighed back in frustration.  
     Octavia considered his offer. “I could do that,” she said. “I’ve got some rope up here, but I don’t think you would accept my help, since I am only waiting around to kill you.” She knelt down to peer over the edge at him.  
     He nodded up to her. “That does put a damper on our relationship.”  
     “But, I promise I will not kill you until you reach the top!”  
     “That’s very comforting,” he grunted, pulling himself up another step, “but I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait.”  
     “I hate waiting,” Octavia sighed. She paced across the cliff and returned. “I could give you my word as a grounder?”  
     “No good,” he strained against the cliff. “I’ve known too many grounders.”  
     “…So is there any way you’ll trust me?”  
     “Nothing comes to mind.” He searched for another handhold, seemingly stuck in place.  
     Octavia took a deep and solemn breath. “I swear, on the soul of my mother, Aurora Blake, you will reach the top alive.”  
     The man beneath her regarded her for the briefest of moments before he chose to yield. “Throw me the rope.”  
     Octavia ran quickly to uncoil the remainder of their severed rope, then dragged it to the edge of the cliff. She lowered it down until the man in black could reach it, then footed it as he began to climb.  
     As he pulled himself up the rope, Octavia reached out to grasp his arm and haul him over the ledge. She was completely shocked to find that the man in black was not a man after all, but rather a tall, lean-muscled, strikingly beautiful woman. Her thick, dark braids fell down her back, and what the trio had earlier mistaken for a mask was actually black paint, smeared across her eyes.  
     “Thank you,” she nodded to Octavia. She reached behind her to draw her sword.  
     “Wait wait wait,” Octavia stayed her hand. “We’ll wait until you’re ready.”  
     The other woman sheathed her blade. “Again, thank you,” she said, limping slightly toward a set of mostly-eroded steps. She took a seat, and Octavia leaned against the remainder of a rock wall across from her. She looked on with a keen interest as the woman in black removed one of her boots and began to dump small stones out of it.  
     “I don’t mean to pry,” Octavia started, “but you don’t happen to have six fingers on your right hand?”  
     The other woman paused, still holding her boot in mid-air. She was intrigued. “Do you always begin conversations this way?”  
     “My mother was slaughtered by a six-fingered man,” Octavia answered, almost reverently. The woman in black obliged her, holding up the hand in question. Five fingers. Octavia smiled at her, signalling for her to drop her hand. “She was a great sword maker, my mother. When the six-fingered man appeared and requested a special sword, my mother took the job.” At this, she drew her blade from its place at her hip. She balanced it across her fingertips, holding it out for the woman in black to see. “She slaved a year before it was done.” She crossed to her, and the other woman gently took the blade from her hands.  
     The stranger admired it, testing its weight before returning it to Octavia. “I have never seen its equal,” she admitted.  
     “The six-fingered man returned and demanded it, but at one-tenth its promised price. My mother refused.” Octavia sheathed the blade. “Without a word, the six-fingered man slashed her through the heart. I loved my mother, so naturally I challenged her murderer to a duel. The six-fingered man left me alive. But, he gave me these.” She pulled back her ink-black hair to reveal two pale scars that ran the length of each cheekbone.  
     “How old were you?”  
     “I was eleven years old. When I was strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of fencing. So, the next time we meet, I will not fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and say, ‘Hello, my name is Octavia Blake. You killed my mother. Prepare to die.’”  
     The woman in black was visibly impressed. “You’ve done nothing but study swordplay?”  
     “More a pursuit than a study lately.” Octavia sat next to her. “You see, I cannot find him. It’s been fifteen years now and I’m starting to lose confidence. I just work for Indra to pay the bills. There’s not a lot of money in revenge.”  
     “Well,” the other woman stood, “I certainly hope you find him someday.”  
     Octavia stood and countered her opponent. “You are ready then?”  
     “Whether I am or not, you’ve been more than fair.” She drew her sword and crouched slightly.  
     Octavia drew her blade in response. “You seem a decent woman. I hate to kill you.” A cocky smile played across her lips.  
     “You seem a decent woman,” her opponent grinned back. “I hate to die.”  
     Octavia bowed slightly. “Begin.”  
     They stood perfectly still for a moment, each of them sizing her opponent up. Octavia struck first, lightning fast, crossing blades only to be quickly parried to the left. They paced in a clockwise circle until their positions had reversed. This time, the woman in black struck first, connecting with Octavia’s blade and slicing through the air just past her cheek. Again they stood perfectly still, each fascinated by the other.  
     Octavia grinned, then attacked. Each step she took forward, the other woman countered. Octavia advanced and the woman retreated. The woman advanced and Octavia retreated. They matched each other step for step, stroke for stroke. Octavia pressed forward until the other woman began to move backwards up a bit of the ruins, never breaking her retaliation. “You’re using Bonetti’s defense against me, huh?” she observed.  
     Her assailant smiled. “I thought it fitting, considering the rocky terrain.”  
     Octavia pressed on. “Naturally you must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro.” Their blades sang against each other.  
     The other woman just grinned. “Naturally, but I find that Thibault cancels out Capo Ferro, don’t you?” She jumped backwards off of the stones, landing in the dust below.  
     “Unless the enemy has studied her Agrippa,” Octavia charged up the crumbled rocks and leapt out, her body spinning and flipping mid-air, only to land deftly behind her attacker. “Which I have,” she smiled.  
     The woman in black continued her assault, pushing Octavia further into the ruins. “You are wonderful,” Octavia panted, never missing a pass of her assailant’s blade.  
     “Thank you. I’ve worked hard to become so.”  
     “I admit it, you are better than I am,” Octavia conceded, retreating.  
     The woman pressed on. “Then why are you smiling?” Their swords clanged against one another as Octavia stepped further and further towards the retaining wall at the cliff’s edge.  
     “Because I know something you don’t know,” she smiled, her eyes alight with mischief.  
     “And what is that?” the other woman asked.  
     “I am not left-handed!” Octavia grinned as she switched hands, gaining the advantage and pressing her opponent up a steep and winding set of stone steps.  
     “You’re amazing!” the other woman breathed.  
     “I ought to be after fifteen years!” Octavia pushed her against the crumbling retaining wall on the higher level of the cliff. The wall shifted under the woman’s weight, but Octavia would not relent.  
     “There is something I ought to tell you,” the woman forced out through clenched teeth. Every muscle in her body was tensed against the rocks, her feet searching desperately to gain purchase in the dust beneath them. Still Octavia pushed, her body pressed tightly against her enemy.  
     “And what is that?” she snarled down at her, sure that she had won.  
     The woman’s eyes glinted as a devilish grin broke across her face. “I’m not left-handed either!” She thrust her elbow into Octavia’s ribs, throwing her across the landing as she deftly switched sword-hands. Having gained the clear advantage, she flourished her weapon and pressed forward, hard, soon knocking Octavia’s blade from her hand.  
     The girl was stunned.  
     She turned and leapt from the top of the landing, catching a support beam on the way down and swinging her body out to drop near her sword. She ran to snatch her blade from the dirt and immediately re-assumed her stance.  
     The woman in black shrugged, tossing her blade to land hilt-upright in a patch of grass before leaping to catch that same support beam, flipping her lithe and agile body over it, and expertly dismounting next to her sword.  
     Octavia was speechless. “Who are you?” she breathed with admiration.  
     “No one of consequence,” the other woman smiled back, almost smugly.  
     “I must know.”  
     “Get used to disappointment.”  
     Octavia shrugged, lunging forward to meet her attacker. Their fight continued, ranging wide across the ruins. Octavia matched the woman in black blow for blow, up these stones and down those steps. Both were well-accomplished swordswomen, neither one relenting, each out to prove her worth. The fight crescendoed to a fever pitch, when suddenly the woman in black sliced Octavia across her cheek before knocking her sword from her hand.  
     She brought her fingers up and gingerly touched the wound as she knelt before her opponent. “Kill me quickly,” she panted, surrendering.   
     “I would as soon destroy a stained glass window as an artist like yourself.” The woman in black circled around behind her. “However, since I can’t have you following me either…” she trailed off before striking the back of Octavia’s head with the hilt of her sword. Octavia grunted and fell over, unconscious. “Please understand I hold you in the highest respect,” the woman bowed deeply to her challenger before running to retrieve her scabbard and heading north in pursuit of Indra, Lincoln, and the princess. 


	5. Chapter 5

     Lincoln, Indra, and Clarke were high on a hill, far across a lush expanse of meadow. Lincoln was still carrying Clarke on his shoulder, climbing over steep rocks in the terrain. Indra paused to check behind them, wanting to make sure they were in the clear.  
     She peered out across the meadow, scanning the horizon for any sign of the mysterious, black-clad bandit. Just as she was about to turn back, she spotted the woman cresting a not too far-off ridge. “INCONCEIVABLE!” she erupted in both anger and disbelief. “Give her to me,” she turned to Lincoln, grabbing Clarke’s tightly bound hands and pulling the girl from his shoulders. “Catch up with us quickly.” She started over the rocks and up the other side of the hill.  
     “What do I do?” Lincoln asked, bewildered.  
     “FINISH HER! Finish her your way!!” Indra shouted back at him, dragging Clarke behind her up the hill.  
     “Oh good, my way,” Lincoln mused. “Thank you, Indra.” He paused to consider. “Which way’s my way?”  
     Indra stopped, trembling with pent-up rage. She turned to him. “Pick up one of those rocks, get behind that boulder. In a few minutes, the woman in black will come running around the bend. The minute her head is in view, HIT IT WITH THE ROCK!” She huffed off up the hill.  
     “My way’s not very sportsmanlike,” Lincoln muttered to himself. Still, he picked up a rock and concealed himself behind a large boulder.  
     The woman in black was sprinting across the meadow, and he could hear her light-footed steps approaching. She slowed to a walk as she came up the hill and into the clearing. She knew that this was an ideal setup for an ambush, so she entered cautiously. She crept forward quietly, trying her best to survey all directions.  
      _CRASH!  
_      A large rock exploded against a boulder just inches away from her head. Her hand flew to her sword and she dropped into a crouch, drawing her weapon.  
     “I did that on purpose,” Lincoln appeared just to her right, stooping to pick up another large rock. “I don’t have to miss.”  
     “I believe you.” She truly did. “What happens now?”  
     Lincoln sized her up. He was amazed to discover that the man who had so quickly climbed the cliff’s face using their rope, and so skillfully dispatched Octavia’s well-trained blade, was in fact a woman.  
     “We face each other as God intended,” he finally offered. “Sportsmanlike. No tricks, no weapons,” he eyed her sword. “Skill against skill alone.”  
     The dark-haired marauder was intrigued. “You mean, you put down your rock, and I’ll put down my sword, and we’ll try and kill each other like civilized people?”  
     Lincoln lifted his rock with a cheeky sort of grin. “I could kill you now,” he observed.  
     “Frankly, I think the odds are slightly in your favor at hand fighting,” she responded, carefully dropping her sword by her feet.  
     “It’s not my fault being the biggest and the strongest,” Lincoln replied. “I don’t even exercise,” he shrugged. His grin widened as he tossed the rock over his shoulder, nonchalantly.  
     They paused, each taking the other one in. Lincoln bent his knees just slightly and raised his hands toward her, palms out. The woman mirrored him, bouncing briefly on the balls of her feet before springing forward to throw her shoulder into his gut. He was solid, all sinew and muscle, and she bounced backwards off of him.  
     He smiled down at her and waited. She gained her bearings and sprung forward again, this time wrapping her arms around his waist, trying desperately to knock him off balance. She strained against him but could gain no ground. She stepped back, exasperated.  
     “Look, are you just fiddling around with me or what?”  
     He grinned at her. “I just want you to feel you’re doing well. I hate for people to die embarrassed.” He lunged for her, but she tucked and rolled forward between his legs, popping up into a fighting stance on his other side. “You’re quick!” he turned to her.  
     “And a good thing, too.”  
     Lincoln stepped toward her and she countered, backing up the hillside.  
     “Why are you wearing that paint?” he swiped at her with his massive fist, and she dodged. “Were you burned by acid or something?” He swiped again and she dodged to the other side.  
     “Oh, no, it’s just terribly comfortable. I think everyone’ll be wearing it in the future.”  
     Lincoln swiped toward her again and she dodged to the right, dashing up a nearby rock and vaulting onto his back. She pulled her arms tight against his thick neck as he tried in vain to strike her. “I just figured why you give me so much trouble,” he strained through clenched teeth.  
     “Why’s that, do you think?”  
     He backed her toward a rock and smashed her against it. “Well, I haven’t fought just one person for so long.” he stumbled. “Been specializing in groups, battling gangs for local charities, that kind of thing.” He stumbled backwards again, smashing her against a second rock.  
     “Why should that make such a -” he smashed her into the rock again, causing her to gasp out, “- difference?”  
     “Well, you see,” his hands pulled desperately at her arms, lean but strong around his neck, as he dropped heavily to his knees. He was wearing down. “You use different moves when you’re fighting half a dozen people than when you only have to be worried...about...one…” he breathed heavily, collapsing beneath her. He was unconscious.  
     She released her grip before rolling him over to check his heartbeat. Slow, but steady. “I do not envy the headache you will have when you awake,” she said. “But in the meantime, rest well, and dream of large women.” She retrieved her sword and ran off up the hill, continuing on after Indra and the princess.  
  
***  
  
     Prince Cage’s horses rounded a bend, pulling to a quick halt in the midst of the stone ruins. He dismounted, kneeling to examine the scuffs left in the dust. “There was a mighty duel,” he mused, standing. He began to retrace the steps, pacing through the women’s fight as his officers looked on, curiously. “It ranged all over,” he ran up a steep incline. “They were both masters.”  
     Count Marcus Kane, his most trusted confidant, spoke up. “Who won? How did it end?”  
     Cage followed the frantic footsteps. “The loser...ran off alone. But the winner,” he pointed north, “followed those footprints toward Guilder.”  
     “Shall we track them both?” Kane asked.  
     Prince Cage stood tall. “The loser is nothing,” he declared. “Only the princess matters. Clearly this was all planned by warriors of Guilder. We must all be ready for whatever lies ahead.”  
     “Could this be a trap?” the Count posed.  
     The prince stepped into his horse’s stirrup, gracefully swinging his leg up and over the beast. “I always think everything could be a trap.” He picked up the reins. “Which is why I’m still alive.” He dug his heels into his stallion with a _yah!_ and lead the search party north, into the meadows.


	6. Chapter 6

     The woman in black raced up the hill. When she reached the top she was surprised to find Indra seated calmly beneath a tree, her dagger grazing the hollow of Clarke’s throat. The princess was blindfolded. Before them lay a table set with two goblets, a bottle of wine, and a smattering of various fruits and cheeses.  
     “So,” Indra began. “It is down to you, and it is down to me.”  
     The outlaw moved to close the space between them.  
     “If you wish her dead, by all means, keep moving forward,” Indra threatened, calmly.  
     “Let me explain,” the dark-haired woman held out her hands as a show of good faith.  
     “There’s nothing to explain. You’re trying to kidnap what I have rightfully stolen.”  
     She continued to move forward, cautiously. “Perhaps an arrangement can be reached?”  
     “There will be no arrangement,” Indra grabbed Clarke’s arm with her free hand, “and you’re killing her,” she finished, pressing the dagger’s tip against the blonde’s vulnerable throat. The princess inhaled sharply.  
     The bandit stopped still. “Well, if there can be no arrangement, we are at an impasse.”  
     “I’m afraid so,” Indra answered, her grip on the other girl unwavering. “I can’t compete with you physically, and you’re no match for my brains.”  
     “You’re that smart?” the other woman smirked.  
     “Let me put it this way: have you ever heard of Plato, Aristotle, Socrates?”  
     “Yes.”  
     “Morons.”  
     “Really?” the marauder was well intrigued. “In that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits.” She crossed her arms.  
     “For the princess?” Clarke felt her body tense at the threat to her life. The woman in black nodded. “To the death?” Indra pushed, but the woman simply nodded again in confirmation. Clarke’s breath caught in her chest as the dagger’s edge wavered against her throat. “Very well, I accept.” Indra released her hold on the princess’ arm and sheathed her dagger. Clarke exhaled.  
     “Good! Then pour the wine.” Indra did so as the other woman stepped closer to them and seated herself on a stone. She removed a small vial from a pouch tied to her belt, uncorked it, and offered it for examination. “Inhale this, but do not touch.”  
     Indra sniffed the vial and scoffed. “I smell nothing.” She passed it back to her adversary.  
     “What you do not smell is called iocane powder. It is odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is among the more deadly poisons known to man.”  
     Indra _hmm_ -ed  with genuine amusement. The woman in black lifted both goblets from the table, turning her back for just a moment before returning them to their places. She tossed the empty vial on the table before her. “All right. Where is the poison? The battle of wits has begun.” She wore a self-satisfied smirk that irritated Indra. “It ends when you decide and we both drink, and find out who is right, and who is dead.”  
     “But it’s so simple,” Indra retorted. “All I have to do is divine from what I know of you: are you the sort of person who would put the poison into her own goblet or her enemy's?” The other woman leaned forward with keen interest. “Now, a clever woman would put the poison into her own goblet, because she would know that only a great fool would reach for what she was given. I am not a great fool, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But you must have known I was not a great fool, you would have counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”  
     “You’ve made your decision then?”  
     “Not remotely! Because iocane comes from Australia, as everyone knows, and Australia is entirely peopled with criminals, and criminals are used to having people not trust them, as you are not trusted by me, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you.”  
     The outlaw furrowed her brow, propping her chin on her fist. “Truly, you have a dizzying intellect.”  
     “Wait til I get going!” Indra laughed, then paused. “Where was I?”  
     “Australia.”  
     “Yes, Australia! And you must have suspected I would know the powder’s origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”  
     “You’re just stalling now.”  
     “YOU'D LIKE TO THINK THAT, WOULDN'T YOU?” Indra exploded, and Clarke winced next to her. “You've beaten my giant, which means you're exceptionally strong, so you could've put the poison in your own goblet, trusting on your strength to save you, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But, you've also bested my grounder, which means you must have studied, and in studying you must have learned that man is mortal, so you would have put the poison as far from yourself as possible, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”  
     “You’re trying to trick me into giving away something. It won’t work.”  
     “It has worked! You’ve given everything away! I know where the poison is!” Indra was smug in her self-satisfaction.  
     “Then make your choice.”  
     “I will, and I choose -” she broke off with a gasp, pointing frantically over the other woman’s shoulder. “What in the world can that be?”  
     The outlaw turned to look, her hand moving for her sword. “What, where? I don’t see anything?”  
     Indra quickly switched the goblets. “Well, I could have sworn I saw something. No matter,” she smirked.  
     “What’s so funny?”  
     “I’ll tell you in a minute. First, let’s drink - me from my glass, and you from yours.” They each lifted their goblets, raising them toward one another before drinking deeply.  
     The woman in black sat her goblet down, pointing to Indra. “You guessed wrong.”  
     “You only think I guessed wrong! That's what's so funny!” she was positively giddy with herself. “I switched glasses when your back was turned! Ha ha! You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is ‘never get involved in a land war in Asia,’ but only slightly less well known is this: NEVER go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!!” she erupted into maniacal laughter, her pitch growing more and more shrill until suddenly her breath caught in her throat and she fell to the right, dead, a cruel smile forever frozen on her face.  
     The woman in black knelt to remove the princess’ blindfold. Clarke squinted her eyes, letting them adjust to the light before turning them toward her new captor. “Who are you?” she asked.  
     The dark-haired woman untied her hands and feet before briefly meeting Clarke’s eyes. “I am no one to be trifled with. That is all you ever need know.”  
     “And to think,” Clarke glanced at the table, then back to the woman before her, incredulous, “all that time it was your cup that was poisoned.”  
     “They were both poisoned. I spent the last few years building up an immunity to iocane powder.” She reached out to grab Clarke by the arm and they took off down the far side of the hill, toward the forest.  
  
***  
  
     The royal search party slowed to a stop in the meadow’s rocky clearing. Prince Cage dismounted, running this way and that before declaring plainly, “Someone has beaten a giant.” He grasped at his saddle and remounted his horse. “There will be great suffering in Guilder if she dies.” The search party tore off, following the trail across the hillside.


	7. Chapter 7

     The woman in black slowed her pace, releasing Clarke’s arm and throwing her toward a rock. “Catch your breath,” she instructed.  
     “If you release me,” the princess tried to bargain, “whatever you ask for ransom, you’ll get it, I promise.”  
     The dark-haired woman laughed humorlessly. “And what is that worth, the promise of a princess? You’re very funny, Highness.” She leaned against a rock opposite the blonde.  
     “I was giving you a chance. It doesn’t matter where you take me. There is no greater hunter than Prince Cage. He can track a falcon on a cloudy day - he can find you.”  
     The other woman crossed her arms in amusement. “You think your dearest love will save you?”  
     “I never said he was my dearest love,” Clarke spat back, full of vitriol. “And yes, he will save me. That I know.”  
     “You admit to me you do not love your fiance,” the woman raised her eyebrow to the princess.  
     “He knows I do not love him.”  
     “Are not _capable_ of love is what you mean,” the brunette hurled.  
     Clarke stood to meet her captor’s gaze, narrowing her eyes coldly. “I have loved more deeply than a killer like yourself could ever dream.”  
     The outlaw stepped quickly to close the gap between them, raising her hand to strike the other woman. Clarke shut her eyes sharply and braced for the hit that never came. “That was a warning, Highness.” Clarke opened her eyes to stare her assailant down. “The next time my hand flies on its own. Where I come from, there are penalties for liars like yourself.” She grabbed the princess’ arm and took off running once more toward the forest.  
  
***  
  
     The prince and his search party rode down to the base of the hill where the stone table sat, Indra’s body next to it. Cage dismounted and approached the table, examining it closely. He spied the vial and sniffed it. “Iocane,” he announced. “I’d bet my life on it. And there are the princess’ footprints,” he pointed past the table to where Clarke had run off with the marauder. “She’s alive, or was, an hour ago. If she is otherwise when I find her, I will be very put out.” He stood with seemingly renewed purpose, mounted his horse, and led the party after the princess once more.  
  
***  
  
     The dark-haired woman slowed once more, thrusting Clarke against another rock. “Rest, Highness,” she commanded.  
     “I know who you are,” Clarke accused. “Your cruelty reveals everything. You’re the Dread Pirate Raven, admit it!”  
     The marauder took a deep bow. “With pride,” she grinned. “What can I do for you?”  
     “You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces.” Clarke’s eyes were ice.  
     The taller woman crossed her arms, clicking her tongue at the princess with mock disdain. “Hardly complimentary, your Highness. Why loose your venom on me?”  
     “You killed my love,” the blonde declare, unflinching.  
     “It’s possible. I kill a lot of people.” The brunette strode nonchalantly to a nearby log and perched lightly on it. “Who was this love of yours? Another prince like this one? Ugly, rich, and scabby?”  
     “No,” Clarke turned toward her. “A farmhand, poor.” She felt a familiar clench in her gut at the thought of Lexa and dropped her eyes to study the ground. “Poor and perfect,” she whispered, “with eyes like the sea after the storm.” A moment passed before she regained her composure and continued. “On the high seas your ship attacked, and the Dread Pirate Raven never takes prisoners.”  
     The accused pirate leaned back against the sun-bleached trunk, casual as ever.  “I can’t afford to make exceptions,” she sighed, crossing her hands behind her head. “I mean, once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and then it’s nothing but work, work, work all the time.” She cocked an arrogant smile at the princess.  
     “You mock my pain!” Clarke fumed.  
     “Life IS pain, Highness! Anyone who says differently is selling something.” Clarke turned her head away in disgust. The bandit regarded her for a moment before standing to her feet. “I remember this farmhand of yours, I think. This would be what, five years ago?” Clarke gave no answer. She added, softer, “Does it bother you to hear?”  
     “Nothing you could say would bother me.” Clarke’s eyes pierced through the other woman.  
     “She died well, that should please you.” She walked to stand just past the princess as she spoke, keeping her back to the other girl. “No bribe attempts or blubbering. She simply said ‘Please...please, I need to live.’” At this she turned to Clarke. “It was the ‘please’ that caught my memory. I asked what was so important for her here. ‘True Love’, she replied.” Clarke raised her eyes as the other woman paused. “And then she spoke of a girl of surpassing beauty and faithfulness. I can only assume she meant you.” She crossed back to the princess, then turned to her. “You should bless me for destroying her before she found out what you really are.”  
     Clarke sprang to her feet, defiant. “And what am I?”  
     “Faithfulness she talked of, madam, your enduring faithfulness. Now, tell me truly,” she stepped closer, “when you found out she was gone, did you get engaged to your prince the same hour or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?”  
     “You mocked me once, never do it again,” Clarke spat back, furiously. “I died that day!”  
     The pirate turned away toward the sound of sudden hoofbeats high on the hill, and Clarke seized her opportunity. “And you can die too for all I care!” she shoved the other woman off the hill with everything she could muster.  
     As the dark-haired outlaw tumbled down the hill she managed to call out, “As...you...wish…!”  
     Clarke felt as if the wind had gone out of her. “Oh, my sweet Lexa,” she gasped. “What have I done?” And without a second thought, Clarke leapt over the hill’s edge to tumble after her lost love.  
  
***  
  
     Prince Cage’s band of soldiers slowed behind him atop the hill. “He disappeared,” Cage stated. “He must have seen us closing in, which might account for his panicking into error. Unless I am wrong, and I am never wrong, they are headed into the fire swamp.” He spurred his horse onward.  
  
***  
  
     Lexa and Clarke lay bruised and panting for breath at the bottom of the hill. Lexa used her sleeve to wipe the paint from around her eyes before crawling over to check on Clarke. “Can you move at all?” she asked, her voice softer than it had been. She cradled the girl into her arms, tentatively stroking her golden hair.  
     “Move?” Clarke exhaled. “You’re alive. If you want, I could fly.” She pulled Lexa tightly against her, tangling her hands in her braids, breathing her in. She smelled like the earth and the sea, and Clarke was lost in her.  
     Lexa pulled back to look at her. “I told you I would always come for you. Why didn’t you wait for me?” She searched Clarke’s face for an answer.  
     “Well, you were dead,” she responded.  
     Lexa smiled gently down at her. “Death cannot stop True Love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”  
     Clarke smiled back. “I will never doubt again.”  
     “There will never be a need,” Lexa breathed before Clarke’s mouth collided with her own and the years lost between them fell away.


	8. Chapter 8

     Lexa and Clarke raced along the ravine floor, stopping just before the treeline. Lexa turned her head toward the fading sound of hoofbeats. “Ha! Your pig fiance is too late! A few more steps and we’ll be safe in the fire swamp.” Her grin was a mix of madness and mischief.  
     “We’ll never survive,” Clarke hesitated.  
     “Nonsense,” Lexa reached for Clarke’s hand then drew her sword. “You’re only saying that because no one ever has.” They ran headlong into the swamp.  
     They walked quietly for a few minutes, taking in their surroundings. The day had grown much darker since they’d crossed the treeline. The air was thick and damp, as were the trees and ground. Clarke couldn’t put her finger on it, but the whole atmosphere made her feel incredibly uneasy.  
     “It’s not that bad,” Lexa mused, offhanded. Clarke shot her a quizzical look, her head cocked to the side. “Well I’m not saying I’d like to build a summer home here, but the trees are actually quite lovely,” Lexa defended, a slight twinkle in her eyes. They continued on in silence until a curious popping sound began beneath them. _Pop...pop…_ it seemed to grow closer. _Pop...pop-pop pop...WHOOSH_. A flame spout shot up immediately next to Clarke, setting the foot of her gown ablaze. She screamed as Lexa quickly dropped to the ground and smothered the flames with other girl’s skirts.  
     “Well now, that was an adventure.” Lexa stood and held out her hand to help Clarke to her feet. “Singed a bit, were you?”  
     Clarke shook her head. “No, you?”  
     Lexa shook her head in response, then froze as another _pop...pop-pop pop..._ sounded. She quickly grabbed Clarke around the waist and lifted her to the left just as a second flame spout _WHOOSHED_ upward in the exact spot where she’d been standing. “Well, one thing I will say,” Lexa looked at Clarke, her hands still tightly gripping the blonde’s hips, “the fire swamp certainly does keep you on your toes.” She smiled wryly as she released the other girl, then took her hand and continued forward into the growing darkness.  
     The air and the trees grew ever thicker as the two women made their way through the muck and the mire. “This will all soon be a happy memory,” Lexa proclaimed. “Raven’s ship _Revenge_ is anchored at the far end. And I, as you know, am Raven.” She hacked away the vines that were now woven across their path.  
     Clarke’s brow furrowed. “But how is that possible, since she’s been marauding twenty years, and you only left me five years ago?”  
     Lexa’s sword sang through the air as she sliced through another massive vine. “I myself am often surprised at life’s little quirks.” _Pop...pop-pop pop…_ she grabbed Clarke’s waist and lifted her to the side once more. _WHOOSH_. “See, what I told you before about saying ‘please’ was true,” she continued, hacking through vines as they went. “It intrigued Raven, as did my description of your beauty.” Clarke found herself smiling behind the other girl’s back. “Finally, Raven decided something. She said, ‘All right Lexa, I've never had a valet, you can try it for tonight. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.’ Three years she said that. ‘Good night Lexa. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.’ It was a fine time for me. I was learning to fence, fight, anything anyone would teach me. Raven and I eventually became friends. And then, it happened.” She paused to sheath her sword as they emerged from the vines.  
     “What? Go on,” Clarke urged.  
     Lexa took her hand and began to lead her down a narrow path between two gigantic trees. “Well, Raven had grown so rich, she wanted to retire. So, she took me to her cabin, and told me her secret. ‘I am not the Dread Pirate Raven,’ she said. ‘My name is Anya. I inherited the ship from the previous Dread Pirate Raven, just as you will inherit it from me. The man I inherited it from was not the real Dread Pirate Raven either. His name was Gustus. The real Raven has been retired fifteen years and living like a Queen in Patagonia.”  
     They stopped before a large tree that had fallen across a bog. Lexa turned to Clarke, held out her arms, and raised her eyebrow with a question. Clarke wrapped her arms around Lexa’s neck in answer, and the brunette lifted her with ease. She began to walk across the tree, steady placing one foot before the other. Clarke could feel the other woman’s arms, lean and strong beneath her, and her stomach leapt slightly at that realization. She tried to dismiss the thoughts and reached out to move a vine away from Lexa’s face.  
     “Thank you,” she smiled, continuing with her story as they delicately crossed the bog. “Then she explained that the name was the important thing for inspiring the necessary fear. You see, no one would surrender to the Dread Pirate Lexa. So we sailed ashore, took on an entirely new crew, and she stayed aboard for a while as first mate, all the time calling me Raven. Once the crew believed, she left the ship, and I have been Raven ever since. Except now that we're together, I shall retire and hand the name over to someone else.” She stepped back onto the swamp’s sodden floor and set Clarke down gently. “Is everything clear to you?”  
     Clarke nodded, though she was utterly unsure of her answer. She took a step forward and disappeared into the earth beneath her, gasping. _Quicksand!_ Lexa moved like lightning, drawing her blade to cut loose the vine hanging just to her right. She grasped it firmly in her hand, tossed her sword to the side, took a deep breath, and dove into the sand after her love.  
     They were under for what felt like an eternity. The sand was thick like porridge, suctioning them deeper with every move beneath its surface. Finally, her lungs and eyes burning, Lexa’s hand thrust forth from the pit, taking hold of the vine. She broke the surface, gasping for air, Clarke coughing and sputtering in her arms.  
     The two women crawled out of the sand and back onto solid ground, drawing the air in deeply to soothe the burning in their sand-scorched lungs. Clarke reached to embrace Lexa, and as she held the princess, Lexa spotted a hideously large rodent perched not far from them, baring its teeth, a low growl rumbling from its throat. A second creature appeared a few feet away.  
     “We’ll never succeed,” Clarke lamented. “We may as well die here.”  
     “No,” Lexa broke the embrace. “We have already succeeded.” She stood to help Clarke to her feet, brushing the sand from her face and retrieving her sword. “I mean, what are the three terrors of the fire swamp? One, the flame spouts. No problem. There’s a popping sound preceding each, we can avoid that.” They strode on through the swamp, moving quickly. “Two, the lightning sand, but you were clever enough to discover what that looks like, so in the future we can avoid that too.” Clarke shot her a look.  
     “Lexa, what about the R.O.U.S.s?”  
     “Rodents of unusual size? I don’t think they exist.” No sooner had the words escaped her lips than one of the rodents flung itself at her from where it had been perched, waiting. It knocked her to the ground, snarling and gnashing its teeth. The creature covered half her body, easily. Clarke stood frozen in horror as Lexa grappled with the beast, trying desperately to keep its teeth away from her.  
     They rolled to and fro, Lexa managing to wedge her arm between herself and the beast just as it lunged forward, sinking its teeth deep into her forearm. She screamed out in pain and Clarke began to panic, unable to move. Lexa tried to loose her arm, to no avail, then raised her free arm to land a jab right into the creature’s jaw, knocking it off of her.  
     She flipped onto her stomach and frantically crawled toward her sword, but the beast quickly recovered and grabbed for her legs. She rolled over once more and grasped the rodent by the jaw, its teeth almost at her throat. She struggled beneath the terrifying animal, her legs desperately seeking purchase in the dirt. She managed to lift herself just enough to flip the creature over her and crawl once more for her sword. The rodent flipped back onto its paws and began to head for Clarke.  
     “LEXA!” She screamed.  
     Lexa abandoned her sword and flung herself after the creature, grasping its tail and dragging it away from the blonde. Clarke grabbed a fallen limb nearby and began to beat at the animal while Lexa struggled to hold it in place. The beast caught Clarke’s gown in its teeth and yanked her off of her feet. She tried to swing at it with the limb, but to no avail. She swung once more and connected with the monster’s nose, knocking it loose from her feet but back onto Lexa. That momentary advantage was all the creature needed to sink its teeth deep into Lexa’s shoulder. She screamed in anguish, pinned beneath the massive rodent.  
      _Pop..._ she heard suddenly. _Pop-pop pop..._ she used all her strength to flip herself and the beast over toward the sound. _WHOOSH!_ The flame spout shot out of the ground and lit the monster’s back aflame. The creature was stunned, and Lexa seized the opportunity to scramble for her blade as it bellowed in pain.  
     She stood to her feet, sword in hand, and stared down the smoldering beast as it slowly crawled toward her. A part of her admired its persistence. A very small part.  
     The rodent struggled to its feet and Lexa closed the distance between them. She stared down at the creature and steeled herself as she sank her blade deep into its side. _Rawrrawaarrr_ it yelped pitifully. She withdrew her blade and plunged it in again. _Awwrrrawarrawrrr_ it cried. Lexa closed her eyes for a moment before withdrawing and stabbing it a final time. The beast rolled onto its side, dead.  
     She turned to Clarke, her gray-green eyes soft with a mix of pain and relief. She took the other girl’s hand and together they wound their way out of the fire swamp.  
     As soon as they crossed the treeline, Clarke could feel the atmosphere clear up and the sunlight return to the rest of the woods. She inhaled the crisp air, tinged with the scent of falling leaves and pine. “We did it,” she said, unable to hold back the grin spreading across her face as she looked to Lexa.  
     “Now, was that so terrible?” Lexa teased, her own face breaking into a smile. Clarke was lost in her eyes, basking in the simple sight of her. She leaned forward to pull the other girl into a kiss but stopped short when she heard horses.  
     They turned to seek out the sound and were immediately descended upon by Prince Cage’s hunting party. His horses encircled them and Lexa quickly drew her sword, stepping forward to protect Clarke.  
     “Surrender!” Cage called to her.  
     She raised her eyebrow to him. “You mean you wish to surrender to me? Very well, I accept.”  
     “I give you full marks for bravery. Don’t make yourself a fool,” he cautioned.  
     “Ah, but how will you capture us? We know the secrets of the fire swamp. We can live there quite happily for sometime, so whenever you feel like dying, feel free to visit,” she fired back.  
     “I tell you once again, surrender!” Clarke heard rustling behind her and turned to find more of the prince’s men stepping out from the trees, each armed with a crossbow, all trained on Lexa.  
     “It will not happen.” She stood her ground.  
     “For the last time, surrender!” Cage was fuming now.  
     “Death first!” Lexa’s knuckles tightened around her hilt.  
     “Will you promise not to hurt her?” Clarke exclaimed, shocked as the words left her mouth.  
     “What was that?” Cage’s brow furrowed in confusion.  
     “What was that?” Lexa’s did the same as she turned to Clarke.  
     The princess-to-be stepped forward. “If we surrender, and I return with you, will you promise not to hurt this woman?” She willed her voice not to tremble.  
     Cage lifted his chin and spoke regally. “May I live a thousand years, and never hunt again.”  
     “She is a sailor on the pirate ship _Revenge_. Promise to return her to her ship.”  
     “I swear it will be done,” Cage answered, with all the semblance of a royal decree. He turned to address Marcus, flanked to his right. “Once we’re out of sight,” he lowered his voice, “Take her back to Florin and throw her in the pit of despair.”  
     “I swear it will be done,” Marcus grinned, a coldness in his eyes.  
     The bowmen lowered their weapons and moved forward to apprehend Lexa. Clarke turned to her, overcome with love and sorrow. “I thought you were dead once and it almost destroyed me,” she said, her voice as soft as her eyes. “I could not bear it if you died again, not when I can save you.” They held each other’s gaze, afraid of what would happen if they looked away. Lexa searched desperately for the words to say but came up empty-handed. It was no matter, for just as she opened her mouth to say what her eyes had been trying to, Cage sped by on his horse, snatching Clarke up and galloping off toward the castle. Just like that, Lexa had once again lost the only woman she’d ever loved.  
     “Come, miss, we must get you to your ship,” the count trotted forward astride his ink-black courser.  
     Lexa met his eyes as the bowmen bound her hands behind her back. “We are people of action. Lies do not become us.”  
     “Well spoken, miss.” Lexa spied his right hand and smiled, knowingly. “What is it?”  
     “You have six fingers on your right hand. Someone was looking for you.”  
The count’s eyes betrayed a moment of panic before he swiftly drew his sword and struck her with the butt of it, knocking her unconscious.


	9. Chapter 9

     Lexa awoke to find herself lying strapped to a table in a cavernous room. She took in her surroundings: curved stone walls, various instruments of torture, and a monstrous wooden contraption up against the far wall. She caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye and turned to see an albino shuffling toward her, muttering to himself.  
     He bent over her and began tending to her wounds. She’d all but forgotten her encounter in the fire swamp, but when his sponge met her shoulder, she was vividly reminded.  
     “Where am I?”  
     “The Pit of Despair…” he wheezed in a voice that sounded almost paper-thin. “Don’t even think -” he coughed hard to clear his throat, then continued in a normal, almost warm voice, “Don’t even think about trying to escape. The chains are far too thick.” She glanced down to confirm his words. “And don’t dream of being rescued, either. The only way in is secret, and only the prince, the count, and I know how to get in and out.” He wrung the bloody sponge into his bucket, then returned it to her shoulder.  
     “Then I’m here til I die?”  
     “Til they kill you, yeah.” He moved to the other side of the table.  
     “Then why bother curing me?” Lexa tried in vain to make sense of her situation.  
     “The prince and the count always insist on everyone being healthy before they’re broken.”  
     “So it’s to be torture, then?” she asked. He nodded in response. Lexa steeled herself. “I can cope with torture.”  
     The albino shook his head, a haunting sort of grin beginning to play across his face. “You survived the fire swamp, so you must be very brave, but nobody withstands The Machine.” His eyes widened with abject terror, and Lexa felt a chill go through her.  
  
***  
  
     Clarke was aimlessly wandering the castle’s halls, drifting about in a near-catatonic state. She had only felt this kind of emptiness one other time - when she lost Lexa to the sea. She looked like a ghost, taking no notice of where she was or who she passed as she walked.  
     She turned a corner and passed the prince and the count, but paid them no heed. Prince Cage turned to Marcus. “She’s been like that ever since the fire swamp. It’s my father’s failing health that’s upsetting her.”  
     Marcus nodded in agreement. “Of course.”  
     The king died later that night, and before the following dawn, Clarke and Cage were married. At noon, she met her subjects again, this time as their queen.  
     Cage strode out onto the balcony to address the crowd below. “My father’s final words were, ‘Love her as I loved her, and there will be joy.’ I present to you your queen, Queen Clarke!”  
     Buttercup entered the crowd as they began to kneel to her. She felt strange, and out of place. As the people bowed in waves, she heard a voice cry out above them, “Boo! Boo! BOO!”  
     She searched for the sound and saw an old woman, haggard and bent, moving steadily through the people and toward her. Clarke was distraught. “Why do you do this?”  
     “Because you had love in your hands, and you gave it up!” the woman shouted back.  
     “But they would have killed Lexa if I hadn’t done it!”   
     “Your true love lives!” she cried, pointing a finger at the queen. “And you marry another!” She turned to the crowd. “True love saved her in the fire swamp, and she treated it like garbage. And that’s what she is, the Queen of Refuse!” Clarke was trembling at her words. “So bow down to her if you want, bow to her. Bow to the Queen of Slime, the Queen of Filth, the Queen of Putrescence!” She spun back around and began to hobble toward Clarke. “Boo! Boo! Rubbish! Filth! Slime! Muck! Boo! Boo! BOOOO!!  
     Clarke gasped for breath as she shot up in bed. _A dream_...she realized. A terrible dream. It was ten days til the wedding, and the king still lived. Her nightmares, however, were growing worse.  
     She threw on a robe and sped down the hall to the prince’s office. “It comes to this,” she exclaimed as she swept through the doorway. “I love Lexa. I always have. I know now I always will. If you tell me I must marry you in ten days, please believe I will be dead by morning."  
     Never one to be caught off-guard, the prince immediately answered. “I could never cause you grief. Consider our wedding off.” He turned to the count as he stood. “You, ah, returned this Lexa to her ship?”  
     “Yes.”  
     “Then we will simply alert her!” He moved to take Clarke’s hands into his own. She fought the urge to recoil from his touch. “Beloved, are you certain she still wants you? After all, it was you who did the leaving in the fire swamp. Not to mention that pirates are not known to be persons of their word.”  
     Clarke raised her chin and set her jaw in defiance. “My Lexa will always come for me.”  
     The prince dropped her hands and returned to his seat. “Ah. I suggest a deal. You write four copies of a letter. I’ll send my four fastest ships, one in each direction. The Dread Pirate Raven is always close to Florin this time of year. We’ll run up the white flag and deliver your message. If Lexa wants you, bless you both. If not, please consider me as an alternative to suicide. Are we agreed?”  
     Clarke simply nodded, then turned quickly on her heel and exited.  
  
***  
     A little later, Prince Cage and Count Marcus were strolling at their leisure through the forest just outside the city. “Your princess is really quite a winning creature,” Marcus mused aloud. “A trifle simple, perhaps, but her appeal is undeniable.”  
     Cage grinned. “Oh I know, the people are quite taken with her. It’s odd, but when I hired Indra to have her murdered on our engagement day, I thought that was clever. But it’s going to be so much more moving when I strangle her on our wedding night. Once Guilder is blamed, the nation will be truly outraged. They’ll demand we go to war.”  
     They stopped before a large tree, Marcus closely examining its trunk. “Now...where is that secret knot?” He felt around, poking and prodding different rises in the bark. “It’s impossible to find…” he trailed off, pushing his thumb into a knot just to the right. A door swung open in the side of the tree. “Ha!” he grinned to himself. “Are you coming down into the pit? Lexa’s got her strength back, and I’m starting her on the Machine tonight.”  
     Cage strode forward and began to straighten the count’s collar and dust his lapels. “Marcus, you know how much I love watching you work, but I’ve got my country’s 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder, and Guilder to frame for it. I’m swamped!”  
     “Get some rest. If you haven’t got your health, you haven’t got anything.” The men smiled evilly at each other before they parted ways.  
  
***  
  
     Marcus stood in the pit, anxiously waiting as the albino rolled Lexa in on a cart and hooked her up to the Machine. “Beautiful, isn't it?” he practically beamed down at her with pride. “Took me half a lifetime to invent it. I'm sure you've discovered my deep and abiding interest in pain. At present, I'm writing the definitive work on the subject, so I want you to be totally honest with me on how The Machine makes you feel. This being our first try, I'll use the lowest setting.”  
     He reached to grasp a wooden lever and moved it to a setting that simply read “1.” The Machine creaked to life in response. Lexa could hear the sound of water flowing over a wheel, and the gears inside the contraption began to spin. Her body buckled and her jaw clenched tight as a blinding, white-hot pain shot through her. Marcus watched her with keen interest until he was satisfied, then he moved the lever back to “0.”  
     “As you know, the concept of the suction pump is centuries old. Really that's all this is, except that instead of sucking water, I'm sucking life.” He crossed to his desk and sat, opening a notebook. “I've just sucked one year of your life away. I might one day go as high as five, but... I really don't know what that would do to you, so let's just start with what we have.” He dipped his pen, the tip hovering just above a blank page. “What did this do to you? Tell me. And remember, this is for posterity, so be honest. How do you feel?”  
     Lexa’s lips parted just enough to allow a strained whimper to escape, and tears slipped unbidden from the corners of her eyes to make their way down her cheeks.  
   “Interesting.”


	10. Chapter 10

     Cage was looking over maps in his office when one of his captains appeared in the doorway. He stood for a moment, waiting to be noticed, before finally clearing his throat.  
     “Emerson,” the prince addressed him, gesturing for him to enter.  
     “Sir,” the captain knelt by his chair.  
     “As chief enforcer of all Florin, I trust you with this secret: killers from Guilder are infiltrating the Thieves’ Forest and plan to murder my bride on our wedding night.”  
     Emerson looked confused. “My spy network has heard no such news.”  
     At the sound of footsteps behind him, Emerson turned. Clarke was now standing in the doorway. Both men sprang to their feet to greet the princess.  
     “Any news from Lexa?” She did nothing to hide the hope in her voice.  
     “Too soon, my angel,” Cage gently admonished. “Patience.”  
     “She _will_ come for me.” Clarke held her head high.  
     “Of course,” the prince bowed, and Clarke swept out of the room just as quickly as she’d appeared.  
     Cage turned back to Emerson. “She will not be murdered. On the day of the wedding, I want the Thieves’ Forest emptied, and every inhabitant arrested.”  
     “Many of the thieves will resist,” Emerson protested. “My regular enforcers will be inadequate.”  
     “FORM A BRUTE SQUAD, THEN!” Cage bellowed back at him, his patience growing thin. “I want the Thieves’ Forest emptied before I wed!”  
     Emerson bowed his head slightly. “It won’t be easy, sire.”  
     “Try ruling the world some time,” Cage sighed.  
  
***  
  
     The day of the wedding soon arrived. The brute squad had their hands full carrying out the prince’s orders. Emerson walked among the chaos as his brutes bound the thieves and marched them into a jailer’s cart. “Is everybody out?” he called.  
     “Almost,” a guard called back, exiting a nearby hut. “There’s a grounder giving us some trouble.” He jerked his head toward the meager building he’d just stepped out of.  
     Emerson glared pointedly toward the guard. “Then you give him some trouble.” He pulled himself up into the seat at the front of the cart and shouted “Move!” The driver spurred the team of horses into action, and they took off for the castle.  
     The guard huffed, exasperated, and walked back into the hut. A woman’s voice drunkenly slurred at the other end of the single room. “I am waiting you for, Indra. You told me to go back to the beginning, so I have.” Her head lolled from side to side as she examined the near-empty bottle in her hand. “This is where I am, and this is where I will stay. I will not be moved.”  
     “Ho there!” the guard called out.  
     “I do not budge,” Octavia mumbled back at him. “Keep your ho there.”  
     “But the prince gave orders,” the guard pushed.  
     Octavia stumbled to her feet, clumsily drawing her sword. “So did Indra. When the job went wrong, you went back to the beginning. Well, this is where we got the job so this is the beginning. And I am staying until Indra comes.” She slumped into a nearby chair.  
     The guard stepped outside, desperate for help. “You, brute, come here!”  
     “I am feeling kind of greeny…” Octavia muttered, leaning forward as if to vomit. She was amazed to see the floor fall away beneath her as she was lifted into the air by a pair of very large, very strong, very familiar hands.  
     “You surely are a meany,” Lincoln smiled at her. “Hello.”  
     “It’s you…” was all that her whiskey-addled brain could muster in its confusion.  
     “True,” he grinned. “You don’t look so good.” Octavia blew a raspberry in response. She smelled exactly as she looked, and Lincoln winced. “You don’t smell so good either.” He carried her to a table and sat her down.  
     “Perhaps no,” she said, brushing it off. “I feel fine.”  
     “Yeah?” Lincoln patted her shoulder, then let go of her. She fell face-first into the table and lay there, motionless and snoring. Lincoln laughed to himself, then lifted her into his arms and carried her back to his small cabin. There, he nursed her back to health and sobriety. He told her of Indra’s death, and of the existence of Count Marcus Kane, the six-fingered man. When she heard the news, she collapsed into a bowl of stew.  
     Lincoln continued to sober her up, dunking her head into alternating buckets of hot and cold water until she felt she was ready.  
     “That’s enough! Enough!” She shouted at him. “Where is this Marcus now, so I may kill him?”  
     “He’s with the prince, in the castle. But the castle gate is guarded by thirty men.”  
     She spun in a blind rage, kicking over one of the buckets and spewing water across his cabin floor. “How many could you handle?” She began to pace.  
     “I don’t think more than ten.”  
     Octavia did the math. “Leaving twenty for me. At my best I could never defeat that many.” She sat, frustrated. “I need Indra to plan. I have no gift for strategy.”  
     “But Indra’s dead,” Lincoln pointed out.  
     Octavia brightened, a sudden thought occurring to her. “No...not Indra. I need the woman in black.”  
     Lincoln was confused. “What?”  
     Octavia stood, the excitement of her growing plan taking hold. “Look, she bested you with strength, your greatness. She bested me with steel. She must have out-thought Indra. And a woman who can do that can plan my castle onslaught any day. Let’s go!” She dashed for the door, grabbing her sword-belt and buckling it onto her waist.  
     “Where?”  
     “To find the woman in black, obviously!” She grinned at him.  
     “But we don’t know where she is,” Lincoln pointed out.  
     Octavia turned, her hand on the doorframe. “Don’t bother me with trifles. After fifteen years, at last my mother’s soul will be at peace. There will be blood tonight!” And with that, she was out the door.  
  
***  
  
     Prince Cage sat in his office, drawing his dagger’s edge across a whetstone to sharpen it. Emerson entered and quickly knelt by his chair. “Rise and report,” Cage commanded.  
     “The Thieves’ Forest is emptied. Thirty men guard the castle gate.”  
     Cage’s dagger rang against the smooth stone. “Double it.” He did not look up. “My princess must be safe.”  
     “The gate has but one key,” Emerson produced a small pouch from around his neck, “and I carry that.”  
     Just then, Clarke entered into the office. Cage set his dagger to the side and rose to greet her. “Ah, my dulcet darling,” he oozed, his voice thick with false sentimentality. He crossed to take her hands. “Tonight, we marry. Tomorrow morning, your men will escort us to Florin channel, where every ship in my armada waits to accompany us on our honeymoon.”  
     “Every ship but your four fastest, you mean.” Clarke raised her eyebrow at him. He froze, caught in confusion at her words. “Every ship but the four you sent,” she reminded him, an edge to her voice.  
     He snapped back to life, trying quickly to recover. “Y-Yes,” he faltered. “Yes of course, naturally not those four.”  
     Emerson cleared his throat from behind them. “Ahem. Your majesty,” he bowed, then hastily excused himself.  
     A realization dawned on Clarke. “You never sent the ships.” Cage dropped her hands as she pressed toward him. “Don’t bother lying, it doesn’t matter. Lexa will come for me anyway.”  
     “You’re a silly girl,” Cage spat back as he returned to his chair, lifting his dagger once more.  
     Clarke was furious. “Yes,” she began as she moved toward him. “I _am_ a silly girl, for not having seen sooner that you are nothing but a coward with a heart full of fear.”  
     Cage sheathed his dagger, doing little to hide his growing rage. He calmly raised his eyes to look at her. “I would not say such things if I were you.” His jaw clenched slightly.  
     “Why not? You can’t hurt me.” Clarke stepped closer to him. “Lexa and I are joined by the bonds of love. And you cannot track that, not with a thousand bloodhounds. And you cannot break it, not with a thousand swords.” She moved around his desk until she stood immediately before him, fearless. “And when I say you are a coward, that is only because you are the slimiest weakling to ever crawl the earth.” Her bright blue eyes turned to ice as she stared down at him.  
     Cage threw his dagger onto the desk and sprang to his feet so fast that Clarke tripped back away from him. _“I would not say such things if I were you!”_ he exploded, wrenching her arm behind her and shoving her down the hallway. They burst through the door to her chambers and he threw her into the room, locking the door shut behind her.  
     The prince tore through the castle in a blind rage. He mounted his horse and rode out, headed straight for the forest. As soon as he found Marcus’ secret tree, he searched wildly for the knot that would allow his entrance. The door swung open and he flew down into the pit, bursting into the cavern below.  
     Lexa lay motionless and semi-conscious on a cart next to the Machine. Marcus was nearby, making notes in his journal. Cage ran to her side.  
     “You truly love each other, and so you might have been truly happy. Not one couple in a century has that chance, no matter what the storybooks say. So, I think no woman in a century will suffer as greatly as  you,” he growled. He spun to grab the Machine’s control lever and ramped it as high as it would go.  
     “Not to 50!!” Marcus cried out as he watched Lexa’s body buckle before starting to convulse. She screamed, a haunting, guttural, almost animal sound that chilled him to his very core.  
     Across the village, Octavia heard the sound and stopped in her tracks. “Lincoln! Lincoln, do you hear that? That is the sound of ultimate suffering. My heart made that sound when Marcus slaughtered my mother. The woman in black makes it now.”  
     “The woman in black?” Lincoln wasn’t quite following.  
     “Her true love is marrying another tonight, so who else has the cause for ultimate suffering?” Her eyes were wild as she took off through the crowd. Lincoln shook his head and jogged after her. She tried to dodge her way through the masses that were gathering for the wedding that evening. “Excuse me, pardon me, it’s important,” she fought before becoming overwhelmed by the sea of people. “Lincoln, please!” she called out.  
     Lincoln took a deep breath before bellowing out, “Everybody, MOVE!”  
     The crowd immediately parted, stunned into silence. “Thank you!” Octavia shouted, running toward the woods.  
     It wasn’t long before Octavia and Lincoln happened upon the albino, pushing an empty wheelbarrow through the forest. “Where is the woman in black?” Octavia demanded. “You get there through this grove, yes?” The albino stared back at her, frozen in fear. “Lincoln, jog his memory.”  
     Lincoln curled his fist and bonked the albino atop his head, knocking him out cold. “I’m sorry,” Lincoln said as the other man dropped to the ground. “I didn’t mean to jog him so hard!” He turned to speak to Octavia, but instead found her kneeling in a clearing nearby. “Octavia?”  
     She drew her sword, holding it up to the sky as she whispered, “Mother, I have failed you for fifteen years. Now our misery can end. Somewhere, somewhere close by is a woman who can help us.” She closed her eyes and held her sword higher to catch the sunlight. “I cannot find her alone. I need you. I need you to guide my sword.” She stood, keeping her eyes closed, and leaned forward, letting the blade pull her to it. She stumbled to the right, then back to the left, then turned around before the sword struck against a tree.  
     Octavia opened her eyes and sighed in defeat. She leaned her arm against the tree, trying to collect her thoughts. To her complete surprise, a door opened in the trunk, just to her right. She sheathed her sword and ran down the steps, Lincoln following behind her.  
     The cavernous pit was empty, save for Lexa, still lying on the wooden cart. Octavia ran to her side as Lincoln leaned over her to listen for her breath and check her heartbeat. She waited as he counted, then shook his head. “She’s dead.”  
     “It just is not fair,” Octavia cursed, kicking the dirt floor and pacing angrily next to the cart. “Well,” she finally said. “The Blakes have never taken defeat easily. Come along, Lincoln. Bring the body.” She made for the door.  
     “The body?” Lincoln stalled, looking down at Lexa.  
     “Have you any money?”  
     “I have a little,” Lincoln offered, confused as usual by Octavia’s mad scheme.  
     “I just hope it’s enough to buy a miracle, that’s all,” she grinned before running up the steps. Lincoln sighed to himself before gently lifting Lexa’s battered, broken body over his shoulder. He turned and followed Octavia back out of the pit and into the depths of the forest.

 


	11. Chapter 11

     Lincoln and Octavia stood before a small, thatched hut deep in the forest. Octavia reached out to knock loudly on the thick wooden door. “Go away!” a voice shouted from within. Octavia continued knocking, unrelenting, until finally a small door within the main door opened and a face appeared. His eyes were as dark and wild as his hair. “What, what??” he asked, annoyed.  
     “Are you the Miracle Monty who worked for the king all those years?” Octavia tried not to sound too hopeful, but her voice betrayed her.  
     “The king’s stinking son fired me. And thank _you_ so much for bringing up such a painful subject. While you’re at it, why don’t you give me a nice papercut and pour lemon juice on it? We’re closed!” He slammed the tiny door in her face. Never one to be turned down, Octavia pounded on his door once more. “Beat it, or I’ll call the brute squad!” he cried out.  
     “I’m on the brute squad,” Lincoln spoke up.  
     Monty opened the door, sizing the larger man up. “You _are_ the brute squad,” he exclaimed.  
     “We need a miracle,” Octavia pleaded with him. “It’s very important.”  
     “Look, I’m retired. And why would you want someone the king’s stinking son fired? I might kill whoever you wanted me to miracle.”  
     “She’s already dead,” Octavia stated flatly.  
     “She is, huh?” Monty was intrigued. “I’ll take a look. Bring her in.” He shuffled back into his hut as Octavia and Lincoln followed. Lincoln carefully laid Lexa down across a large table in the midst of the room. She looked almost peaceful. Monty leaned over her, pressing his ear to her chest before checking over the rest of her body. He picked up her hand then let it drop. “Eh, I’ve seen worse,” he shrugged.  
     “Sir…” Octavia tried to interrupt, but he continued examining her. “Sir!” she urged.  
     “Huh?” Monty looked up at her, startled.  
     “We are in a terrible rush.”  
     “Don’t rush me, kid,” Monty scolded her. “You rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles.” He finally straightened his back and looked at her. “You got money?”  
     “Sixty five,” she responded.  
     “Sheesh! I never worked for so little, except once, and that was a very noble cause.” He started to shuffle around the small room as he spoke.  
     “This is noble, sir. Her wife is crippled, children on the brink of starvation…” she trailed off, hoping he’d buy into her story.  
     “Are you a rotten liar!” Monty laughed in dismissal.  
     Octavia broke, leaning forward as she tried desperately to plead her case. “I need her to help avenge my mother, murdered these fifteen years.” Her eyes burned with the urgency of her quest.  
     “Your first story was better,” Monty huffed. “Now, where’s that bellows cram?” He shuffled towards the fireplace, digging around for the instrument. “She probably owes you money, huh? Well, I’ll ask her.”  
     Octavia was somewhat flabbergasted. “She’s dead. She can’t talk…”  
     “Hoo hoo hoo!” Monty laughed back at her. “Look who knows so much, huh? Well, it just so happens that your friend here is only _mostly_ dead.” Octavia and Lincoln exchanged blank looks and Monty just smiled at them. “There’s a big difference between mostly dead and all dead,” he explained. “Please, open her mouth.” Octavia did as asked, and Monty placed the bellows between Lexa’s lips. He began to blow air into her as he continued. “Now, mostly dead is slightly alive. All dead, well, with all dead there’s usually only one thing you can do.”  
     “What’s that?” Octavia was curious to hear.  
     Monty grinned. “Go through their pockets and look for loose change.” He removed the bellows from Lexa’s mouth and set it down beside her. “Hey!” he shouted down at her. “Hello in there! Hey! What’s so important? What you got here that’s worth living for?” He leaned forward and pushed down on her abdomen.  
     Lexa’s lips parted and she exhaled two long, drawn out words: “Truuue Looove.”  
     Octavia practically exploded with glee. “True love! You heard her? You could not ask for a more noble cause than that!”  
     “Kid, true love is the greatest thing in the world,” Monty admitted as he stood. “Except for a nice MLT, mutton lettuce and tomato sandwich, when the mutton is nice and lean, and the tomato is ripe,” he smacked his mouth as he thought about it. “They’re so perky, I love that. But that’s not what she said! She distinctly said ‘to blave,’ and as we all know, to blave means to bluff! So, you were probably playing cards, and she cheated -”  
     “Liar!” All heads turned to see another man standing in one of the hut’s interior doorways. He was tall and thin, but equally as wild-looking, his hair curled in all directions. “Liar, liaaaar!” he cried, running toward Monty.  
     “Get back, witch!” Monty dodged, running to the other side of the room.  
     “I’m not a witch, I’m your friend! But after what you just said, I’m not even sure I want to be that anymore!”  
     “You never had it so good!” Monty shouted, ducking behind a support beam as the other man ran at him.  
     “True love, she said! True love, Monty! My god!” he cried.  
     “Don’t say another word, Jasper!” Monty quickly side-stepped as he came closer.  
     “He’s afraid!” Jasper turned to Octavia and Lincoln. “Ever since Prince Cage fired him, his confidence is shattered."  
     “Why’d you say that name?” Monty screeched. “You promised me you’d never say that name!”  
     “What, Cage?” Jasper’s eyes gleamed as he turned back to Monty.  
     “Aaagh!” the other man covered his ears as he ran.  
     “CAGE! Prince Cage! Prince Cage! Prince Cage!” Jasper chased him through the room, shouting at him.  
     “I’m not listening!” Monty shouted back in a sing-song voice, fingers shoved in his ears.  
     “True love lies expiring, and you don’t have the decency to say why you won’t help!” Jasper pointed desperately at Lexa.  
     “Nobody’s hearing nothing!” Monty was hell-bent to ignore him.  
     “Cage Cage Cage Cage Cage!!” Jasper continued to chase him through the house.  
     Octavia finally spoke up. “This is Clarke’s true love! If you heal her, she will stop Prince Cage’s wedding!”  
     “Sshhaaah!” Monty stopped running, pushing Jasper to a halt behind him. “Wait, wait. I make her better, Cage Wallace suffers?” Monty’s eyes were bright and wild with mischief and the promise of retribution.  
     Octavia leaned forward, placing her hands on the table next to Lexa. “Humiliations galore,” she grinned, her expression almost mirroring his.  
     “Ha ha!” Monty clapped his hands and leapt into the air. “That is a noble cause! Gimme the sixty-five. I’m on the job!”  
     “Woo-woo!” Jasper exclaimed with excitement.  
     The men set to work, concocting a large miracle pill to bring Lexa back to life. When it was finished, Monty held it between a set of wooden tongs as Jasper coated it with melted chocolate.  
     “That’s a miracle pill?” Octavia was skeptical.  
     Jasper grinned at her. “The chocolate coating makes it go down easier. But, you have to wait fifteen minutes for full potency, and she shouldn’t go in swimming after for at least, what?” He turned to ask Monty.  
     “An hour.”  
     “Yeah, an hour.”  
     “A good hour.” Monty blew across the final coat of chocolate and watched as it cooled and solidified. “Here,” he placed it inside a small pouch and handed it to Octavia.  
     “Thank you, for everything,” she grasped his hand.  
     “Okay,” Monty smiled at her.  
     Lincoln lifted Lexa into his arms and walked out the door, Octavia quick at his heels. Jasper and Monty followed after them and stood in the doorway, waving. “Bye bye!” Jasper called.  
     “Have fun storming the castle!” Monty shouted.  
     “Think it will work?” Jasper asked Monty out of the corner of his mouth as he continued to wave them on.  
     “It would take a miracle,” Monty muttered back before calling “BYE!!” to the heroes one last time.


	12. Chapter 12

     Lexa was draped over Lincoln’s shoulder as he and Octavia crept along the battlement on the south end of Cage’s castle. They crawled to a stopping point and Lincoln propped Lexa up against the stone wall. He peeked over the edge, quickly counting the guards in front of the gate. “Octavia, there’s more than thirty!”  
     “What’s the difference? We’ve got her!” Octavia lifted Lexa’s head. “Help me, here. We have to force-feed her.”  
     Lincoln did his best to crouch down behind a merlon. “Has it been fifteen minutes?”  
     “We can’t wait. The wedding’s in half an hour. We must strike in the hustle and the bustle beforehand.” She dug the pill out of the pouch tied to her waist. “Tilt her head back, open her mouth.”  
     Lincoln did as told and Octavia brought the pill to her lips, kissing it for luck before wedging it into Lexa’s mouth. “How long do we have to wait?” he asked.  
     Octavia shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”  
     Lexa’s eyes shot open, darting wildly about. “I’ll beat you each apart!” she shouted. “I’ll take you both together!”  
     Lincoln quickly clamped his hand over her mouth. “I guess not very long.”  
     Lexa’s face twisted in confusion. “Why won’t my arms move?”  
     “You’ve been mostly dead all day,” Lincoln tried to explain.  
     “We had Miracle Monty make a pill to bring you back,” Octavia added.  
     Lexa looked from one to the other, her brow furrowing deeply. “Who are you? Are we enemies? Why am I on this wall? Where’s Clarke?” She fired off questions quicker than they could answer them.  
     “Let me explain,” Octavia began before shaking her head. “No, there is too much. Let me sum up: Clarke is marrying Cage in little less than half an hour. So, all we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess, make our escape. After I kill Count Marcus.”  
     Lexa’s thumb began to twitch against her chest. “That doesn’t leave much time for dilly-dallying.” Her mind raced as she tried to formulate a plan.  
     “You just wiggled your finger!” Lincoln exclaimed. “That’s wonderful!” He grinned at her.  
     “I’ve always been a quick healer,” she quickly dismissed. “What are our liabilities?”  
     “There is but one working castle gate,” Octavia looked over the wall for a moment, then back to Lexa. “And it is guarded by sixty men.”  
     “And our assets?”  
     “Your brains, Lincoln’s strength, and my steel.” Octavia’s hand rested on her sword as she spoke.  
     “That’s it?” Lexa’s heart sank. “Impossible. If I had a month to plan, maybe I could come up with something, but this?” She shook her head, completely at a loss.  
     “You just shook your head!” Lincoln clapped her on the shoulder. “That doesn’t make you happy?”  
     She leaned her head back against the wall to look at him. “My brains, her steel, and your strength, against sixty men, and you think a little head jiggle is supposed to make me happy, hmm?” Lincoln smiled at her as she looked away, her wheels still turning. “I mean, if we only had a wheelbarrow, that would be something.”  
     Octavia’s eyes narrowed as she thought. “Where did we put that wheelbarrow the albino had?”  
     “Over the albino, I think,” Lincoln answered.  
     “Why didn’t you list that among our assets in the first place?” Lexa was growing irritated. “What I wouldn’t give for a holocaust cloak…” she trailed off, trying to work through a plan that would leave them all alive.  
     “There we cannot help you,” Octavia apologized.  
     Lincoln reached into his tunic and pulled out a long and very large black robe. “Would this do?”  
     Octavia stared at him, stunned. “Where did you get that?”  
     “At Miracle Monty’s. It fit so nice, he said I could keep it.” Lincoln grinned.  
     “All right, all right,” Lexa interrupted. “Come on, help me up.” They each took an arm and lifted her almost to her feet. “Now, I’ll need a sword eventually -” her head dropped forward, and Lincoln lifted it back up.  
     “Why? You can’t even lift one,” Octavia pointed out.  
     “True, but that’s hardly common knowledge, is it?” Her head lolled backwards, and Lincoln lifted it back into place, holding it there. “Thank you. Now, there may be problems once we’re inside.”  
     “I’ll say,” Octavia cut her off. “How do I find the count? Once I do, how do I find you again? Once I find you again, how do I escape?”  
     Lincoln turned Lexa’s head away from Octavia. “Don’t pester her. She’s had a hard day.”  
     “Right, right, sorry.” They started to creep along the battlement, dragging Lexa with them.  
     “Octavia?” Lincoln finally said.  
     “What?”  
     “I hope we win.”  
  
***  
  
     Prince Cage stood in Clarke’s bedchamber, fastening an incredibly ornate necklace around her throat. “You don’t seem excited, my little muffet,” he observed.  
     “Should I be?” She toyed absentmindedly with the cold chain against her skin.  
     “Brides often are, I’m told.” He smiled at her, a truly rotten expression that made her stomach turn.  
     “I do not marry tonight. My Lexa will save me.” She gathered her skirts and swept out the door, Cage following after her.


	13. Chapter 13

     Clarke and Cage stood at the head of a crowded chapel just inside the castle walls. An enormous pipe organ played an overture as the priest turned to face them. He raised his hands to silence the room, breathing deeply as he began. “Mawwage,” he said. Clarke’s eyes shot up to look at him, sure she had misheard. “Mawwage is what bwings us togevah today.” She had not misheard, he truly had the most wonderfully ridiculous impediment to his speech. “Mawwage: that bwessed awwangement, that dweam wifin a dweam…” the priest droned on as Clarke’s mind drifted.  
      _“Stand your ground, men!”_ a shout was heard from just outside the castle’s gate. The crowd began to look around, murmuring amongst themselves as to what could possibly be happening. _“Stand your ground!”_ Clarke’s stomach fluttered and her heart began to pound. _Could it be Lexa?  
  
_      In the courtyard, the guards scrambled to get into position as a gigantic black-hooded figure seemingly floated toward them from the far end of the yard. “I AM THE DREAD PIRATE RAVEN!” he boomed. “THERE WILL BE NO SURVIVORS!”  
     Lincoln was draped in the cloak he’d picked up at Miracle Monty’s, and he stood balancing in the albino’s wheelbarrow as Octavia pushed with all her might. Lexa’s arms were wrapped around Octavia and holding tightly to the wheelbarrow’s handles for support. She willed her legs to push but they barely held her up. Her face rested on Octavia’s shoulder.  
     “Now?” Octavia strained as she steadily wheeled Lincoln forward.  
     Lexa’s feet dragged through the dirt behind her as she tried to pick them up. “Not yet,” she clenched her jaw.  
     “MY MEN ARE HERE,” Lincoln bellowed, rolling closer and closer to the gate, “I AM HERE, BUT SOON YOU WILL NOT BE HERE!”  
     “Now??” Octavia was sweating, struggling with the cart.  
     “Light him,” Lexa growled back. Octavia grabbed the candle she’d stashed in the cart next to Lincoln and lit the hem of his cloak.  
     “THE DREAD PIRATE RAVEN TAKES NO SURVIVORS!” He continued to roll towards the castle guards as his cloak caught fire. The men were terrified. “ALL YOUR WORST NIGHTMARES ARE ABOUT TO COME TRUE!” A soldier near the front broke rank and took off running.  
  
     The priest was singing, and he was horribly out of tune. “Then wove, twue wove, will follow you, forevah,” he droned on. Cage signalled to Marcus and a few of his men to step outside and secure the gate. Clarke was growing anxious as she listened to the muffled chaos.  
  
     “THE DREAD PIRATE RAVEN IS HERE FOR YOUR SOOOULS,” Lincoln roared, raising his hands to point dramatically at the guards who still remained. He was fully engulfed in the flames lapping their way up his cloak, and the rest of the men before him dropped their weapons and ran screaming for the forest.  
     Captain Emerson scrambled after them, shouting, “Stay where you are! Fight! Stay where you are!!” He slid to a stop, watching as his men retreated. Lincoln continued rolling toward him, and he searched frantically for a solution. He made a dash for the gate.  
     “Lincoln, the portcullis!” Lexa shouted over Octavia’s shoulder. Lincoln leapt down from the wheelbarrow, tearing off his robe and flinging it to the side. He ran to grab the portcullis as it began to lower in front of Emerson, and rammed it back up into place with one hand. Emerson’s eyes widened in fear.  
  
     “So tweasuwe youw wove,” the priest was finishing up his song.  
     “Skip to the end,” Cage ordered through tightly clenched teeth.  
     “Have you the wing?” The priest waited patiently for an answer, completely oblivious to the commotion outside the walls.  
     Clarke could hear the portcullis clanging into place as Cage reached to force a ring onto her hand. “Here comes my Lexa now,” she smiled triumphantly at him.  
     Cage dropped her hand, his jaw tightening. “Your Lexa is dead. I killed her myself.”  
     “Then why is there fear behind your eyes?” Clarke knew she had won as she watched his eyes dart briefly to the door before glaring back at her, lost for words.  
  
     Lincoln had Emerson trapped in a corner as Octavia shouldered Lexa up next to them. “Give us the gate key,” Lexa demanded.  
     “I have no gate key,” Emerson set his jaw.  
     “Lincoln, tear his arms off.” Lexa was nonchalant in her gruesome request.  
     “Oh you mean this gate key,” the captain backpedaled, producing the key from where it hung around his neck. Lincoln grabbed the key, knocking the other man unconscious as he handed it off.  
  
     “And do you, Pwincess Cwawke -”  
     “Man and wife, say man and wife!” Cage growled at the priest.  
     “Man and wife,” he stuttered back, in complete shock.  
     Cage threw Clarke to his father. “Escort the bride to the honeymoon suite. I’ll be there shortly.” He took off running down a corridor at the far end of the room.  
     The King took Clarke’s arm and linked it through his own, covering her hand with his. He began to walk towards a different corridor. “She didn’t come…” Clarke mumbled, devastated.  
  
     Marcus and his guards were running down one of the myriad corridors inside the castle when Marcus stopped short, causing some of the guards to trip into each other. Just ahead of him stood Octavia, Lexa, and Lincoln, poised waiting in the cross-hall. Lincoln had Lexa’s arm draped over his shoulder and he held tightly to her waist with one hand.  
     “Kill the dark one and the giant, but leave the third for questioning,” Marcus ordered. His men ran toward them, swords out, armor on, but Octavia quickly dispatched every single one of them.  
     Octavia brandished her sword and crouched into a fighting stance as the last of the guards fell at her feet. She fixed her eyes on Marcus. “Hello,” her voice rang out against the stone, clear and calm. “My name is Octavia Blake. You killed my mother. Prepare to die.”  
     Marcus drew his sword and matched her stance, holding her gaze. He shifted his weight onto his heel before turning to flee back down the corridor behind him. Octavia immediately gave chase, leaving Lincoln and Lexa stranded behind her. She could hear Marcus rounding corners ahead of her, and she ran hard after him. He ducked through a door and latched it shut behind himself just as she slammed into it from the other side and bounced off. “Lincoln!” she cried out, running full speed at the door. “Lincoln I need you!!”  
     He looked to Lexa before calling back to her, “I can’t leave her alone!”  
     “Lincoln! He’s getting away from me!” Octavia slammed into the door again. “Please, Lincoln!” _Slam._ “AAARRGGHHH!” she screamed as she slammed once more into the thick oak.  
     He shifted Lexa’s grip from around his shoulders and placed her arms around a standing suit of armor in the corner of the hallway. Her legs were just barely holding her up. “I’ll be right back,” he assured her before bounding down the hallway toward Octavia’s frantic voice.  
     As he turned the corner he saw Octavia backing up and hurling herself forward to slam her shoulder against the door again. “Aaaagghhh,” she groaned in frustration. He stepped between her and the door, holding his hand out to keep her in place. He smirked at her before turning and punching the door in with one swift blow. He then bowed and gestured for her to enter the chamber. “Thank you,” she quickly muttered as she took off after Marcus once more.  
  
     Not far from the frenized chase, Clarke was being escorted back to her bedchamber. She walked in a slow, stunned silence with the King and Queen. The King held her arm tightly, patting her hand as he shuffled along. “Strange wedding,” he mumbled, breaking the quiet.  
     “Yes, a very strange wedding,” the queen nodded her head in agreement. She began to walk along hurriedly in front of them. “Well, come along,” she urged.  
     Clarke stopped for a moment and turned to the king. She leaned forward to place a small but sincere kiss on his weathered cheek. She could feel the old man start to blush as she pulled back. “W-what was that for?” he giggled.  
     She placed her hand over his as she turned back forward to continue their long walk. “Because you’ve always been so kind to me, and I won’t be seeing you again, since I’m killing myself once we reach the honeymoon suite.” Her voice sounded hollow in her ears.  
     “Won’t that be nice?” he mumbled back. “She kissed me!” he called out to the queen. Clarke just shook her head.  
  
     Lincoln returned to the cross-hall to retrieve Lexa, but she was nowhere to be found. He stood scratching his head in confusion. She had little to no strength, where could she have gone?  
     As he took off to look for her, Octavia flew down a winding stairwell and into a private dining hall after Marcus. She was halted by a searing pain in her stomach. She looked down, surprised to see the hilt of a dagger sticking out of her gut, her jerkin blossoming crimson red around it. She grasped the handle tightly with her hand as she stumbled back against the wall. “Sorry, mother,” she whispered. “I tried...I tried…”  
     “You must be that little grounder brat I taught a lesson to all those years ago.” Marcus stood at the far end of the dining hall. “Simply incredible,” he admired as he began to walk toward her. She noted a faint hint of sincerity in his voice. “Have you been chasing me your whole life, only to fail now? I think that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” He stopped short of where she was leaning, hunched in pain, and clicked his tongue at her. “How marvelous.” She slid down the wall and crumpled to the ground.  
  
     Clarke closed the door to the suite behind her. She felt hopeless, hollow, and lost. She crossed the room to sit at her desk, staring absently down at a long wooden box that lay before her. She reached to open the lid, willing her hands not to tremble as she lifted the brilliant dagger from its cushion within. It felt somehow both heavy and weightless as she pressed the cold steel against the soft, pale flesh above her heart. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, searching for strength. Lexa’s sea green eyes swam before her as she leaned into the blade, remembering the way her fingers had always caught in the farmhand’s braids, and how soft her lips had been. She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, counting to three, when a quiet voice suddenly spoke out from behind her.  
     “There’s a shortage of perfect breasts in this world.” Her dagger clattered to the ground as she spun, startled. “It would be a pity to damage yours,” Lexa smiled at her from where she lay propped amongst the pillows on Clarke’s bed.  
     “Lexa!” Clarke exclaimed before flinging herself out of the chair and onto the other girl. “Oh, Lexa, darling!” She raised herself onto her knees and leaned down to grab the back of Lexa’s neck. She could not kiss enough of her at one time, and she quickly worked her way up the brunette’s neck and down the other side, planting kisses on her lips in between. Lexa lay still beneath her, and Clarke pulled back for just a moment. “Lexa, why won’t you hold me?” She grabbed the girl’s waist to steady herself as she planted her knees astride her hips and crawled further up, kissing the hollow just below Lexa’s ear.  
     “Gently,” Lexa whispered as Clarke’s lips silenced her own.  
     “At a time like this,” the blonde mumbled against her, “that’s all you can think to say?” Clarke’s fingers caught and tangled at the back of the other girl’s head as she pulled Lexa up to meet her. “Gently?” Her teeth grazed against Lexa’s bottom lip as she held onto her, tightly.  
     Lexa felt a wave of dizziness at the sudden movement and cried out, “Gently!” Clarke quickly let go of her and she fell back against the headboard.  
  
     Across the castle, Octavia struggled clumsily to her feet, holding the dagger in place. She shut her eyes and winced in pain, trying desperately to step forward but falling back against the wall.  
     “Good heavens,” Marcus exclaimed. “Are you still trying to win?” Octavia stepped forward once more, wavering. She gripped the hilt of the dagger lodged in her abdomen, grit her teeth, and yanked it out, tossing it to the ground. She wedged her left hand inside of her jerkin to staunch the bleeding. “You’ve got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance,” the count sounded almost admirable. “It’s going to get you into trouble someday.” He drew his sword and lunged at Octavia. She managed to lazily deflect his blows, barely flinching as his blade sank into each of her shoulders before he withdrew.  
     She stepped forward from the wall and began to stumble toward him. “Hello,” she started. “My name is Octavia Blake. You killed my mother. Prepare to die.” She stumbled forward and caught herself on the long table that ran through the hall. Marcus began to back away from her. “Hello,” she growled, stepping toward him again. “My name is Octavia Blake. You killed my mother. Prepare to die.” She swiped her sword at him and rang against his blade as he continued backing desperately away. “Hello!” she shouted, their swords clanging against one another. “My name is Octavia Blake! You killed my mother! Prepare to die!!” she backed him toward a table at the far end of the hall.  
     “Stop saying that!” he screamed wildly at her. She lunged forward and stabbed him in the shoulders. He began to scramble backwards, frantic.  
     “HELLO! MY NAME IS OCTAVIA BLAKE. YOU KILLED MY MOTHER. PREPARE TO DIE!” She ran for him with all the energy she had left, pinning him against the table. His eyes were wild with fear.  
     “No!” he cried. Her blade flew through the air and sliced open his cheek, just as he had done to her all those years ago. “Offer me money,” she demanded.  
     “Yes,” he trembled.  
     She sliced open his other cheek before he could even blink. “Power too, promise me that.”  
     “All that I have and more, please,” he strained through clenched teeth.  
     She stepped back and into a fencing position, drawing her bloodied hand away from her waist. “Offer me everything that I ask for.”  
     “Anything you want,” Marcus said, stepping toward her.  
     She grabbed his wrist and ran her blade deep into his stomach. “I want my mother back, you bastard,” she growled, throwing him back against the wall. She twisted her sword loose and covered her wound with her free hand as she ran up the stairs and out of the hall.  
  
     “Oh Lexa, can you ever forgive me?” Clarke lay next to her on the bed, her head nestled against Lexa’s chest.  
     “What hideous sin have you committed lately?” Lexa smiled down at her.  
     “I got married. I didn’t want to, it all happened so fast,” Clarke sat up.  
     Lexa shook her head. “Never happened.”  
     “What?”  
     “It never happened.”  
     “But it did, I was there. This old man said ‘man and wife.’”  
     “Did you say ‘I do’?”  
     Clarke stopped for a moment to think over the ceremony. “Um, no. We sort of skipped that part.”  
     “Then you’re not married. If you didn’t say it, you didn’t do it.” Lexa raised her voice before continuing. “Wouldn’t you agree, your Highness?”  
     Clarke spun to look behind her and was shocked to see Cage standing in the doorway of the suite.  
     “A technicality that will shortly be remedied,” he smirked. “But first things first,” he drew his sword, stepping into the room. “To the death!”  
     “No!” Lexa shouted. “To the _pain_.”  
     Cage’s face twisted in confusion and his stance faltered. “I don’t think I’m familiar with that phrase.”  
     “I’ll explain. And I’ll use small words so that you’ll be sure to understand, you warthog-faced buffoon.”  
     Cage closed his eyes, almost wincing at her verbal blow. “That may be the first time in my life a woman has dared insult me.”  
     “It won’t be the last,” Lexa promised. “To the pain means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at your wrists, next your nose.”  
     “And then my tongue, I suppose? I killed you too quickly the last time, a mistake I don’t mean to duplicate tonight.” He stepped quickly toward her.  
     “I wasn’t finished!” Clarke was amazed at how intimidating Lexa could be while laying practically motionless on the bed next to her. Her voice stopped the prince where he stood. “The next thing you lose will be your left eye, followed by your right.”  
     “And then my ears, I understand, let’s get on with it!”  
     “Wrong!" she shouted back. "Your ears you’ll keep, and I’ll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out ‘Dear God, what is that thing?’ will echo in your perfect ears. That is what ‘to the pain’ means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever.” There was a coldness behind the triumphant spark in Lexa’s eyes.  
     Cage paused for a moment before responding. “I think you’re bluffing.”  
     “It’s possible, pig. I might be bluffing. It’s conceivable, you miserable vomitous mass, I’m only lying here because I lack the strength to stand. Then again, perhaps I have the strength after all.” She kept her eyes trained on the prince as she leaned forward off the headboard. Her weight shifted onto her feet as they met the ground, and she stood tall, leveling her sword at his chest. “Drop. Your. Sword.”  
     His weapon immediately clattered against the stone floor.  
     “Have a seat,” she offered, waving him over to a chair in the corner of the room. He gathered his sleeves and scrambled for the chair. “Tie him up,” Lexa called over her shoulder to Clarke, keeping her sword pointed at the prince. “Make it as tight as you like.”  
     Clarke leapt off the bed and set to work tying Cage’s wrists to the armrests of the chair. He cried out as she pulled the rope tightly against his arms. She tried to hold back a wry grin.  
     “Where’s Lincoln?” Octavia came running through the door, her left hand still holding her abdomen.  
     Lexa turned her head just slightly to answer. “I thought he was with you?”  
     “No…”  
     “In that case,” she tried to step forward and fell, catching herself on the bedpost.  
     “Help her!” Octavia gestured at Clarke.  
     “Why does Lexa need helping?” She crossed quickly over to her and wrapped Lexa’s arm around her shoulders, holding tightly to her waist.  
     “Because she has no strength,” Octavia answered.  
     “I knew it!” Cage was practically elated. “I knew you were bluffing! I knew she was -” Octavia’s sword at his nose interrupted him. “- bluffing,” he quickly finished.  
     She looked down at him with disdain as she spoke to Lexa over her shoulder. “Shall I dispatch him for you?” Her blade never wavered.  
     “Thank you, but no. Whatever happens to us, I want him to live a long life alone with his cowardice.”  
     “Octavia!” The three women turned as a voice called out from the courtyard. “Octavia, where are you?!”  
     They crossed to the window and Clarke opened the shutters. The three of them leaned out to look down into the courtyard, and were entertained by the sight of Lincoln, sitting astride a brilliant white horse, holding the reins to three others.  
     “Oh, there you are!” he called up to them. “Octavia, I saw the prince’s stable, and there they were, four white horses. And I thought, there are four of us, if we ever find the lady,” he grinned at Clarke and waved. “Hello, lady!” She could not help but smile back at him. “So, I took them with me, in case we ever bumped into each other. And I guess we did!”  
     Octavia was amazed. “Lincoln, you did something right.”  
     “Don’t worry, I won’t let it go to my head,” he beamed, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks.  
     Clarke stepped up into the window, and leapt out into the air. Her wedding gown billowed behind her as she fell into Lincoln’s arms. He helped her to her horse as Lexa gestured for Octavia to jump next.  
     “You know, it’s very strange,” she leaned against the window for a moment. “I have been in the revenge business so long, now that it’s over, I don’t know what to do with the rest of my life.”  
     Lexa smiled at her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Have you ever considered piracy? You’d make a wonderful Dread Pirate Raven.” She stepped out of the window. Octavia thought for a moment, a slow smile breaking across her face before she too leapt out and into Lincoln’s arms.  
     Together, the four of them rode to freedom. As dawn arose, Clarke and Lexa knew they were safe, and a wave of love swept over them. They reached for each other, knowing at last that nothing stood in their way. Clarke pulled Lexa to her.  
     Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.

**  
_The End_ **


End file.
